


Like a Tough Guy Would

by turnofthesentry



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Reggie Mantle, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild canon divergence, Missing Scene, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/turnofthesentry
Summary: Yes, he cares very much what people think of him. He still wants people to respect and appreciate him, admire him for his skills and his looks and his confidence, even if they think he’s a crude fuckboy at the same time. Talented, popular people are allowed that sort of arrogance.But it’d be different if they all thought he liked guys. Reggie may not know this for a fact, but he feels certain of it all the same.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Reggie Mantle (one-sided), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Munroe "Mad Dog" Moore/Reggie Mantle
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	1. better suck it up

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be reached on tumblr @ **[reggierightsactivism](https://reggierightsactivism.tumblr.com/)**! Please feel free to message me. Stay tuned, and I hope you enjoy!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just thinking about Mad Dog fills Reggie with some strangely hot and sharp-edged emotion, unfocused and aggressive, not _jealousy_ , but… 
> 
> Well, yes. Fine. Jealousy. Big friggin’ deal.

Sometimes it’s way too easy to lie to Archie. 

Not that Reggie really does it that often (in fact he lies about far less than most might give him credit for), but of the things he _does_ lie about, his homelife pretty consistently makes the top of the list. People rarely follow up, so he gets away with it nearly every time. 

It hadn’t quite gone the way he told Archie it did, the way even Reggie wanted to believe it might the night before, but he’d been partying all night -- he’d had what old people might call _’a few too many’_ \-- and at that point anything seems like a good idea, even smashing up your abusive father’s car. 

After a few too many that might just seem like the perfect way to break the ice and end the cycle, make it clear that _enough is enough_ , but in the cold light of morning it becomes obvious again that irrational, violent men don’t usually become _less_ so when they discover their pride and joy has been done hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth of damage while they slept. 

For that to even be likely, his pride and joy would have to be his son, not his sports car. 

So enough had been enough for Marty Mantle, too, who’d dragged Reggie out to the garage by his ear, yelling so loud it woke up Reggie’s mom and maybe even a couple of their neighbors. Reggie managed to escape the house relatively damage-free because by the time the two of them stopped screaming at each other Marty was running late for work, but he made it clear enough that Reggie had better not be there when he got back. 

The craziest part is that Reggie still doesn’t regret doing it. Had it been wise? No, not especially. But had it been cathartic? Had it been _satisfying?_

Oh, hell yeah. 

_Fine by me,_ thought Reggie, who’d been around this block before and knew his parents well enough to know 'get the hell out' means _get out of my sight,_ which translates down further to his dad needing a day or two to simmer his anger back down to a boil before he does something he might really regret, and if it takes throwing Reggie out of the house (and yes, often literally) to do that, so be it. 

These days, more often than not, Reggie takes the initiative to leave. They used to do the opposite, ground him so he’d be confined to the house and his room, but this way seems to work better. Less backtalk, fewer bruises. 

The Mantles cared about appearances, after all, and despite whatever conflicts the family might have behind closed doors, on paper they uphold those appearances-- Reggie included. Maybe he’d be in more danger of being disowned for real over something like this if not for his ability to mostly check all his parent's boxes: his success with the football team and natural athletic talent, easy (if shallow) popularity, decent (though admittedly not particularly impressive) grades, being their only son and successor to the Mantle family car dealership, and so on. This is more of a game they play now to make a point. 

What usually happens is that Reggie stays over at Moose’s for a couple nights, comes home, and then gets grounded for real, but usually his parents have cooled down a bit by then. 

Moose is gone now though, which is just one factor of many that separates this fight from all the others Reggie's had with his dad before. Reggie has barely even heard from Moose since he moved away, except for a couple short phone calls and shorter emails. 

He parks by the football field, knowing he can’t stay there forever -- probably not even all night -- because it’s sure to be one of the first places his dad will check once he’s decided it’s finally time to drag Reggie home, but for the moment Reggie doesn’t know where else to go. He doesn’t _have_ anywhere else to go. 

He wishes he could text Moose. It’d be nice to have someone to talk some of this through with right now, or just shoot the shit enough to distract him a little. This stuff with his dad is nothing new, but it’s just one thing of many-- unfortunately one of those problems in Reggie’s life that usually becomes worse when everything _else_ is going wrong. 

When girls love him and leave him, when his best friends ditch him without explanation, or even worse, _replace_ him. Reggie gets sloppy. Reggie acts out. Reggie has off days on the football field. Reggie can’t focus on things like violin or homework, Reggie lets his grade tank by a letter or maybe even two, he comes home late from parties still drunk, talks back, starts fights, and disappoints in general. 

Fails to live up to expectations, which his parents love to remind him aren’t even particularly high. 

“Yeah, right.” 

He pulls from the flask he keeps in his car, freshly filled from his dad’s liquor cabinet last night, although right about now Reggie would rather have a cigarette or something. 

Not that he smokes -- only weed on those rare occasions when someone in Riverdale has any, but not cigarettes -- that’s just the kind of mood he’s in; tense and vaguely self-destructive. 

Pissed off at the world, pissed off at Archie for being so naturally loveable, and for taking all that love and support he gets so easily for granted, pissed off at Veronica for using Reggie as an emotional support boytoy again and again but never calling or treating him as a boyfriend, pissed off at himself for crawling back so many times and for forgiving her so quickly. Pissed off at his parents (duh), pissed off at Moose for leaving, pissed off at Josie for leaving, too, pissed off at Mr. Honey for being lame, pissed off at Coach Clayton for letting someone new on the team at the last minute, pissed off at Mad Dog for… 

He takes another swig from the flask, suddenly feeling a tightening in his chest and a fresh throb of frustration beating at his temples. 

Mad Dog Moore might be Reggie’s least favorite person at the moment, which is a judgement he finds neither unfair or irrational. Mad Dog, who’s waltzed into Riverdale High fresh out of juvie already so buddy-buddy with Archie it makes Reggie want to gag; Mad Dog, who’s been here five minutes and has somehow already flexed himself a spot on the football team; Mad Dog, whose speciality on the field seems to be specifically outperforming Reggie _just enough to matter_ in every single way, running faster and hitting harder and throwing further and catching better. 

And don’t get him wrong, Reggie doesn’t mind a bit of competition -- in fact he loves it, it fires him up and helps him stay focused and motivated -- but being humiliated is something else entirely. 

Being humiliated in front of his father, no less, because of all the practices to fall apart during it just had to be one that his _father_ was there to watch. Marty Mantle is a busy man, a man who travels semi-frequently for both work and for leisure, so whenever he can make it to one of Reggie’s practices or games, it goes without saying he wants to see his son doing well. It goes without saying Reggie wants to make his dad proud and be the star, not fail in front of one of his biggest critics. Not be told later that same night what a sorry waste of time that was. 

Which, okay, _fine,_ is maybe not entirely Mad Dog’s fault. Maybe it’s even a little unfair to blame him at all, but Reggie is far from ready to let go of that anger just yet. He always prefers having someone to blame things on than having to admit yet again that this is just what his life is like sometimes. 

It can be pretty good sometimes, too. Maybe even more often than not, although Reggie isn’t about to do the math -- if it’s just more wishful thinking then he’d rather not know about it -- but like all things in Riverdale, when it’s bad, everything feels bad. Everything good gets shut out until it’s hard to remember what things are like when Reggie _isn’t_ filled with shame and hiding his bruises. 

Archie feels like the only close friend Reggie even has these days -- his best friend without a doubt, even if he knows to Archie he’s just one of many -- and he hates to think about losing him to some new guy right when Jughead’s finally fucked off to private school and given Archie and Reggie more space to reconnect again, some guy Archie’s shared an unbelievable experience with that Reggie will never be able to relate to. Just thinking about Mad Dog fills Reggie with some strangely hot and sharp-edged emotion, unfocused and aggressive, not _jealousy_ , but… 

Well, yes. Fine. Jealousy. Big friggin’ deal. 

Reggie gets out of the car and circles to the front to lean on the hood, drinking and looking out over the football field, which is still illuminated even in the darkness. He thinks he can even pinpoint the exact spot where Mad Dog made him hit the grass during practice. 

Yeah, he definitely can’t stay here all night. Suddenly he feels a little queasy. 

But on the plus side, he might have just thought of another place he can go. 

▪︎▪︎

The parking lot of the community center is empty as it usually is at this time of night. Sometimes teenagers with nowhere else to go stay the night here, of course, but not lately-- and even if there was anyone here, they don’t know Reggie well enough to question his presence there even at this hour. He helps out from time to time which is why he even has a key at all, but mostly this is Archie’s thing -- him and Mad Dog’s -- not Reggie’s. 

Archie himself stays late on occasion, sometimes even overnight, but Reggie knows this isn’t one of those nights because he’d asked Archie earlier during school if he had plans tonight, and Archie said he did. Obviously this hadn’t been why Reggie was asking, but it works out, so he’s not complaining. 

He lets himself in with his key and goes upstairs to the office, where there’s a pull-out couch, which is much better than sleeping in his car at least for one night. At least for tonight. 

Luckily for Reggie he’s always been someone who can fall asleep almost anywhere, in almost any position, in a matter of minutes. With how much he exercises and how active his social life can be on top of that, between practice and the gym and dates and parties and the speakeasy and God only knows what else, Reggie can be easily prone to crashing when his energy level drops suddenly, as they tend to whenever he’s been a few hours without food or something else to help recharge him. 

Reggie’s never slept particularly rough before, though -- this might actually be the first time, officially -- but compared to a car, a floor, a classroom desk, or anywhere else except a real bed, a pull-out couch is easy to work with. Practically luxurious. The office is comfortably warm compared to his car, too, so as soon as the bed’s been folded out Reggie falls asleep on it within minutes. 

A sound but uneasy, restless sleep. 

Except for weekends or when he’s hungover, Reggie’s a notoriously early riser -- he likes to work out and take long showers in the morning -- but even he’s surprised when he finds himself awake at 4:45 AM. It’s still dark outside, even, although there are a couple birds outside the office window chirping their heads off.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Reggie groans, folding his arm over his face. He lays like that for an indiscernible amount of time, groans again, then slowly sits up. 

Someone else is in the gym. 

Part of him, distantly, had _thought_ he’d heard the doors open and shut at some point while he’d still been half-asleep, but now he knows he hadn’t imagined it; he hears footsteps downstairs, not heavy, but the building is old enough that they don’t need to be to still echo on the creaky, cold floors. 

Reggie stands, brushing and finger-combing his hair as reasonably into place as he can without a mirror. 

“Crap,” he mumbles, barely knowing he’s even spoken. Suddenly he’s wide awake, adrenaline spiking through him with the sudden paranoid intensity of someone who’s house has been broken into, or is being pursued by something dangerous. 

_Calm down, Mantle._

People come and go here all the time, it is a _community center_ , so Reggie knows it’s not likely that whoever is here now came looking for _him_ \-- he knows he’s just still on edge from fighting with his dad yesterday morning, and that the thought of Archie catching him couch-surfing here mortifies him deeply. 

Bad enough Archie already saw him as vulnerable as he did the other day, but now more than ever Reggie needs to hold onto whatever shred of dignity that pretending his problems at home can be so easily solved allows him, tenuous though it may be. 

Archie means well, but there are some things he’ll never understand, and Reggie isn’t the guy to explain that to him. 

“Mantle? That you?” 

The floors here might be old and creaky enough to carry nearly any type of sound from one end of the gym to the other, but they’re not quite so reliable for keeping track of _where_ that sound, in this case footsteps, might actually be coming from. The voice comes from the top of the stairs and Reggie whips around quickly, heart racing, thudding loud in his ears. 

It isn’t Archie; it’s Mad Dog. 

No... _Munroe._

Reggie’s eyes narrow slightly. His instant dislike of Munroe may be slightly unfair, especially considering nothing about Munroe is _particularly_ dislikable -- he’s buff, athletic, and friendly -- but really it’s _because_ he’s exactly the sort of guy Reggie could otherwise be friends with that Reggie feels so threatened by him. 

He’s been here barely five minutes and already Reggie’s role on the football team, his friendship with Archie and who knows what else, suddenly all seem to be at risk; suddenly it feels like all the things he’s always had to work so hard for, all the things that define his identity as he knows it the most by, could be taken from him so effortlessly.

And Munroe just doesn’t _need_ those things as much as Reggie does. 

No, Reggie needs them more, and he’ll fight to hold onto them, to protect what’s his. He might not know Munroe’s life, but he does know this much.

He rolls his eyes and goes back into the office. It’s too early for this and Reggie doesn’t particularly want to talk to Munroe, but judging by the way Munroe crosses the hallway and catches Reggie by the arm, apparently the feeling isn’t mutual. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here this early, man. What’s going on?” 

Casual but unconcerned, like he might have simply missed some memo about why Reggie would be here at all, let alone at the crack of dawn. Reggie pulls his arm away with a harsh yank, but Munroe follows him into the office. 

“Oh.” He seems to assess the situation pretty quickly, looking at the couch, then Reggie’s bag, then Reggie. “Okay.” 

Reggie stares back, not sure yet how he wants to react. Is that it? 

“Well, I’ll let you sleep,” Munroe says, turning to leave. “I only came over to grab something I left here anyway.” 

He’s made it halfway down the hallway again when Reggie steps out after him, having decided against simply letting him leave without a word. 

“Wait, Mad D-- _Munroe.”_

Munroe stops at the top of the stairs, turning his head. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you not…” Reggie rubs at his mouth. “Can you not tell Archie about this?”

Munroe looks at him silently, then shrugs his shoulders and starts down the stairs. 

“Not really my business. You do you, Mantle.” But he pauses on the stairs, turning his head again. “Red’ll probably be here tonight, though, so I hope you got yourself a back-up plan.” 

“Not really your business,” Reggie echoes snidely, which is stupid, because no, he doesn’t have a back-up plan, but what difference does it make? Munroe can’t do anything. “Just go.” 

“Whatever.” Munroe looks unimpressed, but that’s all he says before he does go, the community center doors echoing loudly as they open and shut. 

By now there’s no point in going back to sleep. Reggie collects his stuff, folds the pull-out away, and goes downstairs to take a shower. 

▪︎▪︎

School is school. 

The day passes normally, Reggie goes through the motions normally, barely sparing a thought as to where he’ll be sleeping that night. Forward-thinking isn’t his style; Reggie Mantle prefers to live in the moment. 

Football practice goes much better this time, too. Reggie’s dad isn’t there today to see it, but Reggie is fired up, much more in sync with Archie and Munroe’s playing than he’d been the other day, his aggression much more focused rather than clumsy and emotional. By the time things wrap up they’re all in fairly pleasant spirits, laughing together and clapping each other on the shoulders. 

“Great stuff out there today, guys. Really,” Archie says in the locker room, clearly eager to help encourage this moment of unity. It’s still too soon to say Reggie and Munroe are getting along, but Reggie hasn’t picked any new fights with him so far, which… well, it’s a start. 

Reggie pulls his shirt on, balling up his towel and tossing it toward the laundry bin. 

“You guys wanna hit up Pop’s? I’m buying,” he says. Good days at practice put Reggie in a good mood, and being in a good mood usually makes him feel a bit extra generous. More than that, he wouldn’t mind killing time with the two of them for a while before he has to figure out where to sleep tonight. 

“Count me in,” says Munroe. 

“Can’t,” says Archie, nearly simultaneously. Reggie and Munroe both look over at him, and he explains: “It’s Friday. Weekends get pretty big for the community center... a lot of kids with nowhere else to go once school is out, so I wanna make sure I’m there to help ‘em out.” 

“Oh _come on,_ bro,” Reggie implores, slinging his arm over Archie’s shoulder with his usual comfortable ease, close enough now that he can feel Archie’s still-wet hair dripping on him and smell the soap he used (not that Reggie was trying to). “That can wait ‘til tomorrow, can’t it? Just like, do it first thing in the morning.” 

He feels Munroe looking at him, but pointedly does not look back, staying focused on Archie, who shrugs himself out from under Reggie’s arm. 

“Those kids count on me, Reg,” he says, predictably. “But you guys go on ahead. It’ll be good for you to have a little more one-on-one time anyway.” 

Now Reggie looks over at Munroe, the two of them exchanging a dubious glance. One good day of practice for all three of them might make it easier to get along as a _group,_ but expecting just the two of them to suddenly be friends now was much more of a stretch. 

Archie leaves the locker room, and Munroe smirks a little and pats Reggie’s shoulder on his way out, too. 

“You’re still buying, right?” 

Reggie follows them out, pulling his hoodie on and trying not to look too frustrated. The three of them get into Bella -- Reggie’s car -- and he drops Archie off at the El Royale before he and Munroe head to Pop’s alone. 

Well, alone... together. 

“People are gonna think we’re on a date,” Reggie mutters, sliding into one of the booths. 

“Mm,” Munroe responds noncommittally, glancing up to the menu board. “Who says you’re my type, Mantle?”

“I’m everybody’s type,” Reggie says, like he’s explaining something basic. 

“Mmhmm.” Munroe smirks and raises an eyebrow, but offers no further argument. He orders a chili dog, onion rings, and a shake, while Reggie gets a burger, fries, and rootbeer float, and for a while, they eat in silence. Not an entirely comfortable one, but not awkward, either. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Reggie finally says, dipping a fry into his float before he shoves it into his mouth.

“What am I thinking?” 

“Look, I _wasn’t_ trying to get Archie away from the community center so I could sleep there again, all right?” Reggie continues, his tone steady and nonchalant, although maybe also the slightest bit defensive. “It doesn’t make a difference to me.” 

Munroe scoffs a little. 

“All right,” he says, so easily it makes Reggie narrow his eyes.

“Seriously,” Reggie says more firmly. 

“O _kay.”_ Munroe sounds vaguely exasperated, which Reggie finds especially irritating. Who does this guy think he is, anyway? “What I _think_ shouldn’t make a difference to you, either.” 

Reggie’s ears burn faintly, his gaze dropping to glare briefly down at his plate. 

“It doesn’t,” he mutters, not as convincingly as he’d like. He doesn’t know what, if anything, Archie might have told Munroe about the situation with Reggie’s dad, but Munroe has seen enough for himself to have probably put 2 + 2 together on his own faster than Archie had. 

Reggie doesn’t care about that, really. There are a lot of things he doesn’t care about when it comes to what people think of him -- and even more things he _does_ care about -- and while his troubled relationship with his parents is not particularly something he tries to _advertise_ , he knows better than to actually try keeping it secret in such a small town like Riverdale. 

People know. Maybe all his friends don’t, necessarily, but their parents do. They pretend not to, they don’t do anything to stop it, but they know. 

So Reggie knows better than to take some things too personally. 

“Come on,” Munroe says, standing up as he finishes the last of his milkshake and quickly swiping his lips clear of salt and ice cream with his tongue. “Think you could give me a ride home?” 

“Sure. Whatever.” Reggie stands, rubbing his mouth with a napkin and dropping a few bills on the table to cover the check. He’s never seen Munroe’s place before, and admittedly, he’s a little curious; all Reggie does know about it is that Munroe lives on the Northside with his family these days, and that he has a little brother who also just started at Riverdale High. 

Munroe nods. 

“Appreciate it.” 

They get in the car and drive a while, mostly in silence except for the radio. Reggie feels Munroe glance over every now and then, but only looks over himself when he’s fairly sure Munroe isn’t. It isn’t a foolproof system-- they make eye contact a couple times, Munroe seemingly content to let it hold, but Reggie looking away as quickly as if they’d just accidentally brushed hands instead. 

“Right here.” 

Reggie pulls over and parks, leaning his arms over the steering wheel and watching, casually, as Munroe gets out. The house is a single-story suburban ranch-style home, brick with white trim around the windows, with a shingled roof and a freshly painted garage. 

_Not bad,_ he has to admit. Much nicer than Reggie would have assumed, based on who Archie had said had hooked Munroe up with it. 

Munroe stands on the curb, then leans forward toward the open door, hand braced against the roof of the car. 

“You can come in if you want,” he says, then begins walking toward the house without waiting for an answer. Reggie rubs his mouth indecisively, not getting out, but not driving off either. 

Who is he kidding, though?


	2. nothing will ever feel at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Munroe hasn’t officially invited Reggie to stay over and Reggie hasn’t asked, but it’s sort of been the unspoken implication of why Reggie is in his house tonight at all.

Reggie has a well-earned reputation for his attitude, not just with his peers, but among his teachers and many parents alike. To be more specific, he’s well-known to be inappropriate, blunt, rude, and crude, to run his mouth and never take anything seriously. 

None of that is exactly false, although obviously Reggie Mantle is more than just his antagonistic class clown identity. He’s actually quite capable of being polite when he puts his mind to it, particularly to adults-- and particularly to adults who haven’t already passed a judgement on him. 

Such is the case with Munroe’s grandmother, Ms. Amanda Moore, a warm and friendly woman who was so happy to meet another of Munroe’s friends that she insisted Reggie join them for dinner. Reggie accepted, charming her almost effortlessly by making her laugh and flirting harmlessly. 

“I’m so glad to see my Munroe is making friends,” she says proudly as they clear the table, kissing Munroe’s cheek before she sends the boys on their way. 

“Cool lady,” Reggie says, grinning as they walk down the hallway. “Think she’d like it if I call her _Mandy?”_

“Don’t be disgusting,” Munroe says with a roll of his eyes, nodding toward a room at the end of the hall. “This is my room.” 

He hasn’t officially invited Reggie to stay over and Reggie hasn’t asked, but it’s sort of been the unspoken implication of why Reggie is in his house tonight at all. 

Reggie puts his hands in his hoodie pockets and gives the room a casual onceover, appreciating the vague 70s aesthetic the dark wood panelling and olive green carpet provides. It’s rather sparsely decorated, furnished with only a bed, a dresser, and a few shelves and cabinets built-in to the wall, but very few books or posters that Reggie can see-- he considers asking about that, but then notices a stack of comic books on the floor that he thinks he recognizes as Archie’s, and Reggie feels another brief flicker of jealousy flare up in him anew. 

“On Monday my grandma’s gonna be helping chaperone Malcolm’s class trip out to DC, so they won’t be here all week.” Munroe shrugs his letterman off, stepping over to hang it in the closet. “You can stay in here until then. Crash in his room after if you still need it.” 

“Cool,” Reggie says, only halfway paying attention. “I owe you one.” 

He doesn’t say it lightly, and he wouldn’t if he didn’t mean it. _Thank you_ , on the other hand, would be a little too sappy, a little too much like this were a gesture of pity or charity instead of just the favor he’d rather see it as. No point in embarrassing them both with a thank you. 

Yeah, just a favor. Letting someone pity him would be one thing, absolutely and obviously intolerable, but Reggie has no issue with accepting and then later repaying favors-- _quid-pro-bro_ , as he likes to say. 

Reggie bites at his cheek, trying to focus on anything besides that damn stack of comic books. A thought, sharp and unbidden, hits him suddenly. 

_Were they screwing? Are they still screwing? I bet they are. They’ve been way too--_

_Dial it back, Mantle._

The emotional reaction is as irrationally aggressive as most of Reggie’s can be when they hit him like this; when he’s already emotionally compromised jumping to conclusions comes easily to him, whether or not there’s any logic to back those feelings up with. 

Feelings alone are usually justification enough to Reggie to act, but this time he does take a moment to work it through. He’s in Munroe’s house, so he owes him at least that much. 

Of course they aren’t really screwing. Archie only has heart-eyes for Veronica, _’nuff said--_ Reggie knows that all too well to be true, he’s certainly been dumped by Veronica for Archie enough times to make that clear. And if there were any doubt at all, Reggie would have probably tried to make a real move on him by now, anyway. Maybe even the other night after he’d finished going to town on his dad’s sports car. 

Wait... no. Reggie’s just confusing himself now. 

Make _another_ move, on... Veronica. 

Yeah, that’s what he meant.

He opts for a less inflammatory line of questioning. 

“So Munroe, you got a girlfriend yet?”

Munroe looks over from pulling a sleeping bag out of the closet and then chuckles a little, tossing the bag over and shaking his head. 

“Nope. No girlfriend,” he says, laying back, arm folded under his head. “How ‘bout you?” 

“Nah.” Reggie sets the bag aside and sits back against the wall, resting his arm on one knee and letting the other leg stretch out over the floor. “I’m off girls at the moment. Takin’ a break, you know?” 

“What’s that even mean?” Another laugh. “Moving onto guys now?” 

“No, I mean--” Reggie freezes for a moment, then manages to force a laugh of his own that doesn’t feel or sound particularly confident to him. 

“It’s cool,” Munroe interrupts to say simply, nodding and looking up at the ceiling. “I got you.” 

Reggie watches him, chewing the corner of his lip idly and jiggling his foot a little.

“Anyway...” he continues slowly, trying to fill the silence before it becomes awkward. “The answer’s no. No girlfriend, no nothing.” 

“I’ve never really had one. A girlfriend, I mean,” Munroe admits after another moment. “I _was_ kinda seeing someone back at my old school before I ended up in juvie, but once I did? Well. Things fell apart pretty fast.” 

“Bummer.” Reggie looks around the mostly empty room again, before his gaze settles on Munroe, who isn’t looking back. “Were you mad?” 

“Nah,” says Munroe, shaking his head. “I get it. Tough to make a relationship like that work out, even if you’ve been together for ages.” 

“Yeah.” Reggie considers the point. Tough enough to make relationships work out at all, really. “I guess I haven’t really had one either. Like, I’ve gone _out_ with plenty of girls before, but I wasn’t really like, their _boyfriend_ or anything. Most of ‘em were pretty casual, and some of them...”

He rubs at his mouth, thinking about Josie. Thinking about Veronica. 

“I dunno, they just didn’t wanna label it.” Reggie shrugs slowly. “Makes things too serious.” 

“Mmh. I hear you.” 

And there’s the unavoidable awkward silence, but Reggie’s less afraid of it this time. The moment isn’t quite as questionable for him as it would have been before, and the subject matter is actually easier to talk about with someone he’s not that close to yet. 

It’s the kind of awkward silence Reggie is an expert at finding ways to ruin.  
“Hey,” he says, raising both eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re still a virgin?”

“No,” Munroe says, scoffing impatiently. 

“You didn’t lose it in juvie, did you?” Reggie continues in his usual fashion of speaking before he thinks. Munroe flings a pillow at him, and not gently. _”Ow!_ Dude!” 

“Don’t joke about that crap. I mean it.” 

“Okay, okay, _sorry,”_ Reggie snaps back, holding the pillow in his lap and fixing the damage it did to his hair. “What’s the big deal?” 

“It isn’t funny,” Munroe responds simply, curtly, clearly not interested in explaining. “Though for the record, still no.” 

Reggie still doesn’t get it, but he lets the matter drop. 

"Did you and Archie ever like, _do_ anything while you guys were in juvie together?" 

_“Seriously?”_

Well, fine. Sort of lets the matter drop. 

“What?” he asks. “It’s just a question.” 

“Just a question. Right.” Munroe snorts. “Not exactly subtle. You’ve been acting like a jealous girlfriend ever since I got here. _Crazy_ territorial.”

“No I haven’t.” Reggie frowns, barely able to even convince himself. Maybe he’s been a little jealous, sure, but he hasn’t been _that_ obvious. 

“Uh huh. You know, it’s still not too late for you to go sleep in your car if you’d rather do that,” Munroe continues. “If you really wanna keep asking me all these wack-ass questions.” 

Reggie wrinkles his nose but keeps his mouth shut this time. To him it seems like the easiest question in the world to answer, unless that answer was _yes, we did stuff. Lots of stuff. The entire time._

_Think about it, Reggie._

He’d rather not, yet somehow he can’t help himself. Now that he’s allowed the thought into his head it doesn’t want to leave again. Fine if Munroe thinks he was just making another joke, and Reggie hopes that _is_ all he thinks, because he can’t really come up with a good enough reason for why he’d be asking that question seriously. 

If they did do something -- anything -- together in juvie, so what? 

Reggie has nothing to feel territorial over, not like _that,_ but even the mere possibility is still somehow driving him crazy. What, and _why_ , the fuck? 

“Whatever,” he mutters, realizing he still hasn’t responded. “Got it.” 

This time when they lapse into another awkward silence, Reggie lets it happen. Both of them do.

▪︎▪︎

Reggie is normally an early riser, but usually on weekends he lets himself sleep in a little longer, as a treat.

Not this morning, though, apparently. 

He wakes up and just lies there in the darkness for a while, listening to the steady sound of Munroe’s breathing. The sun has already begun to rise by now, whatever time it may be, so Reggie turns over onto his back and lets his eyes scan over the room again, squinting in the faint light the morning brings through the window. 

It’s warm in this room, in this entire house, in a way Reggie isn’t used to. His own house is cold and, if anything, _over_ -furnished, filled with expensive dark wood pieces and leather chairs that his dad loves having purely for the clout but will lose his shit if anyone touches them the wrong way. The only room besides his own where Reggie feels even remotely comfortable in an otherwise fairly sterile house is the den-slash-gameroom, where their big screen TV and all his video game consoles live-- there’s a treadmill, a mini-fridge, a couple La-Z-Boys, and an older couch where he can actually spread out or even eat on while he watches a movie with some friends. 

Then there’s his room, which is comfortable in an efficient ‘he mostly just drops his stuff off and sleeps there’ kind of way (Reggie hangs out elsewhere as much as he can), cluttered with sports equipment, shoes, homework, posters, pendants, magazines, comic books, clothes, porn, handheld video games, hair products, skin products, DVDs, and all other manner of crap a moderately well-off teenage boy might own. 

That’s why Munroe’s practically _empty_ room is so hard for Reggie to wrap his head around. The rest of the house radiates warmth from whatever small touches all three of them have added to the pre-furnished decor, all very understated but in a way that feels familiar -- almost nostalgic, like when Reggie would visit his own grandmother down in Tampa -- but Munroe’s room has a strangely spartan feeling Reggie considers could be a holdover from juvie. 

Could be, sure. Part of him still wants to ask about it, but he might have already missed his chance. 

Still, it’s warm. Reggie stays in his sleeping bag, inexplicably more comfortable there than he’s felt in his own bed for quite some time, but still unable to fall back asleep. 

At some point he notices a change in Munroe’s breathing, and figures the other boy must be awake now, too. 

“Hey Munroe?” His voice is hoarse and thick with sleep still, his hair hanging in loose curls over his face. Munroe groans over from the bed. 

“What now?” 

Reggie hesitates, and decides not to ask about the empty room.

“You wanna hang out today?” 

He turns his head to look at Munroe just as Munroe looks over at him, brows knit like he’s still deciphering what Reggie just said. After a few more moments his expression smooths out, eyebrows raising in guarded surprise. 

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Reggie grins a little, unexpectedly genuine. A few minutes ago Reggie wouldn’t have acknowledged any interest in hanging out with Munroe even to himself, but Munroe _wanting_ to -- or at least having nothing else better to do -- changes Reggie’s point of view on the matter completely. 

“Cool,” he says. “What--” 

“First I’m gonna shower,” Munroe says, swinging his legs off the bed. “Then I’ve got a few chores to do around the house. Usually takes a couple of hours, but we can hang out when I’m done.” 

“Okay, _but..._ ” Reggie sits up, sweeping a hand through his hair to try taming his morning bed head slightly. “How long would it take if I pitch in?” 

“Depends,” Munroe says, quite deadpan. “Probably either half as long or _twice_ as long. My money’s on the latter.” 

“Don’t be a wise guy.” Reggie swats at Munroe as he walks past, stepping over Reggie into the hallway to get to the bathroom. “That’s _my_ thing.” 

“Yeah, you think everything’s your thing,” Munroe calls back, shutting the door before Reggie can argue. 

He sits up, rubbing his eyes and groping for his phone. Bumble matches; swipe. Missed call and voicemail from mom; swipe. Two texts from mom... 

Swipe. 

He’ll read them later. 

Reggie uses the camera like a mirror to help fix his hair a little more until he can shower and put product in it, but then he decides to take this opportunity to snoop a little-- just a little. He’s a curious boy, so sue him. 

The stack of comics does, as expected, belong to Archie, but Reggie still does a cursory flip-through of each issue just in case anything’s been hidden between the pages. Under the bed he finds a small cache of ratty paperbacks (mostly crime novels and a couple of Stephen King-esque thrillers), an old hardcover of Ralph Ellison’s _Invisible Man_ , and a few more vintage comic digests, but though he looks through each one, they’re all just books. 

He doesn’t know why he thought he’d find anything different. Munroe may be a somewhat stoic, mysterious guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily secretive. 

Reggie investigates the closet next, which is a little more interesting. Closets often are. Aside from the expected hanging clothes, shoes, and free weights, there’s also a small, dusty stack of jigsaw puzzles in one corner (that frankly may have just come with the house), as well as two semi-sealed cardboard boxes, a shoebox, and a plastic bag containing what appears to be a small stack of magazines. 

The shower shuts off. Reggie falls back from the closet quickly, kicking it closed with his foot. 

Munroe walks in shortly after, wearing only jeans as he finishes toweling off around his neck. He says something, but Reggie is too distracted with briefly admiring Munroe’s exposed abs and biceps to catch it.

“Huh?” He raises his eyes to Munroe’s, frowning a little in confusion. 

“I said, you’re up.” 

Thank God. 

The water is cold at first, which is actually not a problem, and as it warms up further Reggie feels himself steadily regaining focus, waking up fully and ready to handle the day. He washes his face and his hair, taking an extra 15 or so minutes to blow dry his hair and meticulously comb his product in. 

Reggie’s parents don’t give him a lot of chores, really, which surprises a lot of his friends to learn, although it really shouldn’t; his relationship with them might be complicated, but that doesn’t mean Reggie isn’t still somewhat spoiled. 

Somewhat. 

In the Mantle household, Reggie’s ‘chores’ tend to consist of keeping his grades above a C-average, cleaning up after himself in any part of the house other than his own room or the game room (unless asked, of course, in which case he’d better get those done ASAP), behaving correctly whenever either of his parents has guests or family over, staying on top of football, keeping up with his violin lessons or whatever other extracurriculars his parents decide for him, washing cars, working at the dealership whenever he wants extra money... all fairly reasonable expectations on their own, but if he slips on any one of them (and sometimes even if he doesn’t) then he has problems. 

Munroe, on the other hand, seems to have a sizable load of regular weekend chores, although for today the main items on the agenda are things like mowing the lawn and cleaning out the gutters-- things that are obviously easier to get done between the two of them, and that Ms. Moore certainly can’t do during the week on her own. 

So Reggie is on the roof, strangely unbothered by being up to his wrist in soggy, filthy leaves. Every now and then he glances over at Munroe, shirtless and pushing an old hand-mower across the lawn in even rows, then looks away. 

It isn’t that the work is difficult, just boring. A little mindless. Easy to get distracted. 

“Crap,” He hisses when he accidentally sticks his foot in the gutter, getting his shoe and the cuff of his jeans wet with muddy water. _Gross._

Okay, maybe not so mindless. Maybe he should pay more attention.

He looks back over at Munroe, waiting for him to circle close before dropping some soggy leaves on him.

“Mother _f--”_ Munroe jumps, startled, looking up and feeling down his back to determine _what_ was just dropped on him before he reacts any further. “You are _so_ annoying.” 

Reggie laughs, getting on his hands and knees so he can lean closer to the edge of the roof. 

“It’s a Bulldog right of passage, bro,” he says matter-of-factly. “Though I’m actually going pretty _easy_ on you.” 

“Oh yeah?” Munroe stops mowing, leaning his arms over the handle and raising an eyebrow. “Compared to what?” 

“Here, help me down,” Reggie says, hanging his legs over the side. “I’m done up here.”

Munroe rolls his eyes, but then wheels his mower over to the porch and walks over to where Reggie’s kicking his legs like an impatient child, lacing his fingers together to make a hang-sling for Reggie to step down onto.

Reggie steps, putting his knee against Munroe’s shoulder for balance in a way that brings them awkwardly groin-to-face for a few seconds too long, because Munroe drops him the rest of the way down. 

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” Munroe says, helping Reggie back up to his feet.

“What, _third base?”_ Once he’s standing, Reggie swats Munroe’s hand away. “Yeah, me either.” 

He shoves at Munroe’s chest for good measure. Munroe shoves him back. Archie isn’t here to separate them this time, but before things can escalate to blows Munroe trips Reggie by the ankle and sends him, yet again, sprawling down in the grass. 

Reggie sits up, that brief impulsive flare to pick a fight successfully extinguished before it could really ignite, but he looks irritable all the same. 

“Look, we all _get it_ , okay?” He stands, brushing grass off his clothes ineffectually. “You’re the fastest.” 

“It’s not just about speed,” says Munroe, eyebrow raising again as if he’s explaining something basic, which naturally only annoys Reggie further. “Reflexes, too. Doesn’t make any difference if you’re faster than me or not unless you can _catch_ me.” 

“I _am_ fas--” Reggie begins to argue, feeling emboldened even by just the implication, but then he stops himself. 

Okay, maybe that’s true. Munroe is definitely a lot more coordinated than Reggie is, speed aside, loathe as Reggie might be to admit as much out loud-- even on Reggie’s better days Munroe still manages to dodge and evade most of his tackles. 

“Fine,” he mutters. “How did you get so good, anyway?” 

“When I was 10 I had this cousin who used to bring me to her dance classes whenever she’d babysit me,” Munroe says, grabbing the mower again. “Dancers can really move. You learn a lot just from watching them.” 

Reggie stares at him, waiting for Munroe to say something like _just kidding_ or _sike_ , but he doesn’t. He seems to be serious. 

“That’s it?” 

Munroe shrugs. “And practice.” 

“Okay.” Reggie leans against the porch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Show me.” 

“Come at me, then.” 

Reggie does, moving slowly, and Munroe moves slowly -- slow-motion, almost -- out of his way, taking care to show Reggie his timing, and how he moves his legs, his arms, his whole body. They run through it a couple more times in a couple different ways, but Reggie is a quick study; he knows what he’s watching for and how to work on it from there. 

They keep at it until a little past noon, then Reggie goes inside to make them something to eat while Munroe finishes up the yard. He grabs an apple and holds it in his mouth while he rummages through the fridge, but Reggie really isn’t much of a cook, so there isn’t a lot for him to work with. 

Pizza it is, then. 

As a courtesy, Reggie orders enough for both lunch and dinner for all of them, but as he’s hanging up he happens to glimpse a text from his father. It’s just a number: a quadruple digit dollar amount without further context. 

He checks the texts his mom sent him earlier. The first simply says:

> **Mom:** Be home by after school on Monday so we can talk about your punishment.

And the second, from this morning:

> **Mom:** I’ll be handling it. Your father will still be expecting you to pay back the damages to his car. 

Ah, and there it is: context. It doesn’t come as much of a relief, because although Reggie’s mom doesn’t hit him the way his father does, she can be scary enough in her own ways. 

Whatever, though. It’s still only Saturday.

▪︎▪︎

Munroe and Reggie make their way through one pizza on their own pretty easily, eating it into late afternoon while sitting out on the porch.

“Too much, man. _Way_ too much,” Munroe says, plucking pineapple off his slices and dropping them onto Reggie’s. 

“More for me,” Reggie says agreeably. They don’t talk a whole lot, but it’s not uncomfortable-- Reggie _can_ talk a lot, but usually when he has something to prove or is otherwise desperate to fill a silence, not when things are as chill as they are right now. 

Sometimes, though, he starts talking again even before he’s aware that it’s happening. 

“Hey Munroe,” he starts, catching a rogue black olive and piling it on a stray piece of sausage so he can eat both together. “Now are we even?” 

“Hm?” 

“You know…” Reggie glances over, sucking some salt and grease off his fingers. _You know how I was a dick to you and never really apologized, probably never really intend to either (at least not in so many words), but then you kept quiet for me, and I bought you food at Pop’s and gave you a ride home, and you let me stay the weekend, and I helped you do yard work, and you gave me football tips, and I ordered us all pizza…_ “Like, in general.” 

Munroe shrugs, which is not the answer Reggie was hoping for, but also one that doesn’t surprise him. 

“I haven’t been keeping score,” he says. “But I’m good if you’re good.” 

“Yeah,” says Reggie with a slow nod. “I’m good.” 

_They_ seem good, at least for now, but to be fair, most of Reggie’s relationships are like that-- prone to ups and downs, highs and lows, but usually resting somewhere slightly north of center. 

Good _enough._

Later in the evening after dinner, Munroe disappears for a little while to help his brother with some homework, so Reggie hangs out in his room watching Netflix on his phone. He lays back stretched out on the sleeping bag, holding the phone over his face and trying not to be tempted again by Munroe’s closet, even if that effort only makes him more curious. 

Like what were those bagged up magazines? Sports Illustrated? Porn? What was in that shoebox? Old baseball cards? Family photos? A gun? … Shoes? None of this really matters, and yet Reggie can’t let go of this nagging desire to know more. 

After all, Munroe already knows way too _much_ about Reggie. 

For that same reason, though, Reggie decides against any further snooping. If this tenuous truce of theirs survives the weekend long enough to turn into an actual friendship, then he’ll find these things out eventually. 

_If_ , that is, which by the middle of Saturday night Reggie is already having second thoughts about. He wakes up suddenly around 2AM with his heart racing and face damp with sweat. 

Like most mild-to-severely oversexed teenage boys -- or so Reggie would argue -- it’s not particularly unusual for him to have a couple of sex dreams per week. It’s not even particularly unusual for him to have them about his friends, which-- is fine, he can live with that and hey, it probably happens to a lot of guys, but when he’s sharing a room alone with them?

Yeah, not so much. That freaks him out a little. His pulse pounds in his wrists and temples and he rolls onto his side, facing the wall instead of the bed or instead of on his back. 

_This is the last night,_ he decides, trying to calm down. _Definitely._ Screw Monday afternoon, he’ll sneak back into his own room Sunday night. Reggie isn’t sure he’s ready to face his parents again yet, but it seems preferable to trying to face Munroe all day tomorrow and then spending another night on his floor after everything that Reggie’s subconscious just dropped in his lap.

It was just a dream. Those happen. It’s a guy thing. It’s fine. It doesn't mean anything. 

Hell, it isn’t even the first one he’s ever had about _Munroe_ , but at least when Reggie had still been at the height of his projected anger it made plenty of sense those feelings might manifest that way in his dreams; it happens to him a lot, so he didn’t even question it. 

Again, it’s a normal guy thing. Happens to everyone. 

But did it have to happen _now?_

_Get it. Together. Mantle._ He leaves the bedroom quietly to go splash his face with cold water. 

God, this is stupid. Stupid Munroe and his stupid abs and his stupidly gentle hands and graceful feet. He’s just like Archie, beefy on the outside and weirdly sensitive underneath it all, which isn’t something Reggie is supposed to admire in other guys -- and certainly not something he’s allowed to ever _relate_ to, himself -- but has always kind of magnetized himself towards nonetheless. He wishes he could be even half that comfortable with himself or with his feelings. 

Similarly, Reggie doesn’t have any problem with gay guys (and doesn’t get why people seem to think he would, quite frankly, when he’s never hassled Kevin Keller in his life about anything other than his father’s terrible police work), but again, even if it’s fine for other guys, it’s nothing he could ever relate to personally. That isn’t why the sex dream bothers him, or why he doesn’t like the idea of Munroe and Archie having done anything together, the reason for that is-- 

Well, he doesn't really know. 

Or maybe he does.

▪︎▪︎

Sunday is a lazy but pleasantly un-awkward morning, Reggie dozing soundly after he eventually fell back asleep. He leaves around midday, he and Munroe clapping each other on the shoulders in an affable bro-ish _catch you later_ kind of way, and kills a little time at Pop’s while he figures out what to do next.

Really, he could have stayed. In the warm light of morning something as trivial as a sex dream seems like such a dumb reason to bail, maybe even almost cowardly, but-- well, it’s a lot, and Reggie has never claimed to be good with confronting his own feelings. Mantle men never are. 

And he’s got other things to confront right now anyway. 

He goes home. Neither of his parents are there, so sneaking in is much easier than he thought it might be for a Sunday afternoon; obviously his car in the driveway will be a dead giveaway that he’s back, but they have to get home first for that to be an issue. 

Once upstairs, he locks his bedroom door, tosses his bag aside, and collapses back onto his bed, just laying there for a few minutes with his arm over his face. Then he pulls out his phone, and quickly taps out: 

> > Sup bro ✌  
>  Thx for letting me stay over. Ur a real one  
>  MVP material 🔥🐾
> 
>  **Munroe:** Lol  
>  **Munroe:** No prob my man  
>  **Munroe:** See you tmrw?  
> 
>
>> U know it!

For once, he wishes it was already Monday morning.


	3. no one will bring you what you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reggie never saw that boy again, never told anyone else about what happened that night, but he’s thought about it many times since.
> 
> He thought about it as he lay on the floor of Munroe’s bedroom listening to the other boy breathe steadily as he drifted half-asleep between reality and dreams, memory and present day. A crisp autumn day sitting out on the grass, someone else’s hands on his face--
> 
> Reggie woke up, and then the next morning, once again, he had run away.

Reggie made out with a boy once, and only once. 

It was the night of the End of Summer festival held annually between Riverdale and Greendale, and a bunch of them -- from either town, their usual school year rivalries put on hold at least for this one night -- were hanging out in the woods until long past dark, drinking and laughing and waiting for the fireworks to start. 

This was another night of ‘a few too many,’ not just for Reggie but for pretty much everyone there, and at some point he’d wandered deeper into the woods chasing after a thrown football and found a strange boy holding it. 

Reggie remembers noting a vague resemblance -- this boy also had dark curly hair held in place with product, an aquiline nose, and impeccable cheekbones, although he was much shorter than Reggie is -- and thinks maybe that's why he let anything happen at all; enough time has passed that he can pretty much rewrite such detailed justifications however he’d like to, if he must remember it at all. 

He asked the boy what he was doing out here by himself. Why not join the party? The boy laughed and said he was too drunk, he'd rather be alone so he could watch the fireworks over the tops of the trees. Reggie squinted upward to look, but it was too foggy to see much yet. Watching from the clearing would probably have been a better bet. 

The boy sat, the football resting in his lap. 

“Is this yours?” he’d asked after a few seconds of quiet, and Reggie had nodded. “Come and get it, then.” 

Reggie had. He kneeled and they’d been eye-level, and then there were hands on his face, a mouth against his mouth. 

He kissed back. And time had passed. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” the boy had asked after fifteen or so minutes. 

“What-- out here?” Reggie had grinned, not quite understanding the question yet. 

“No,” said the boy patiently. “With me.” 

Reggie had said nothing, squinting in confusion, then frowning suddenly. He stared and shook his head, using the tree to help him get back to his feet. 

He'd said "No" (although he likes to remember saying something stronger than that, like _'hell no'_ or maybe even _'no way'_ ) and then turned, a bit wide-eyed, to hurry back over to rejoin the party. 

Reggie never saw that boy again, never told anyone else about what happened that night, but he’s thought about it many times since.

He thought about it as he lay on the floor of Munroe’s bedroom listening to the other boy breathe steadily as he drifted half-asleep between reality and dreams, memory and present day. A crisp autumn day sitting out on the grass, someone else’s hands on his face--

Big hands. Warm hands. Hands that, like his own, are capable of great and perhaps surprising tenderness even despite the years of violence they’ve been forced to adjust to. Reggie dreamed that he’d climbed down from the roof and Munroe hadn’t dropped him; instead he’d held him up and kissed him against the side of the house, while Reggie held his face and kissed him back deeply. They’d tumbled down together onto the grass, laughing and groping at each other and kissing between breaths, and then they’d been in Munroe’s room, and in his bed, and... 

Reggie woke up, and then the next morning, once again, he had run away. 

He probably didn’t have to, but he’s never dreamt about someone he was currently sharing a room with before that he wasn’t already dating-- he didn’t know how he’d react if Munroe touched him at all, he wasn’t sure if he could handle that happening, and his mind was too hung up on the possibility to want to take the chance. 

A little space was all he’d need to be fine again. A hard reset, that’s all. 

Monday morning comes and goes without fanfare, Reggie leaving for school without exchanging a single word with his mom or dad even though they’re both downstairs when he leaves (his mom had said they’d talk _Monday afternoon_ and she meant it, clearly, but Reggie is not complaining), though once at school he keeps a little friendly distance between himself, Munroe, and Archie, staying quiet during class and sitting elsewhere for lunch. 

“Um, _excuse you,”_ says Cheryl indignantly when Reggie sits down by Kevin, opposite her and Toni. 

“What?” 

“Last I checked, no one invited _toxic masculinity_ to this table, you brainless rabble-rouser.” 

Reggie still doesn’t actually know what that term means, but he rolls his eyes anyway, straddling the bench so his legs are facing out instead of under the table. Cheryl’s been annoyed with him ever since he got drunk at her party, but he’s not afraid to stand his ground. She tends not to stay legitimately irritated for too long.

“Babe, relax, this isn’t _Mean Girls,”_ he hears Toni say as he glances over at Munroe and Archie’s table, then turns back to his own lunch. “He can sit with us. We weren’t even talking about anything private.” 

“Yeah, Cheryl,” Reggie says with a smirk, winking cheekily. “Don’t mind me.” 

“And if I can get in on that you can _definitely_ stay,” Toni says, reaching across the table to steal a couple of Reggie’s nachos, and when Reggie doesn’t object, Kevin follows suit. Cheryl scoffs, which makes Reggie’s smirk grow a little more. He’s still not particularly close with Toni or the rest of the Southside Serpents, but they’ve come a long way since Midge was murdered a year and a half ago. Grudges still flare up from time to time, but for the most part have been buried for quite a while. 

He holds up his fist for Kevin to bump, then drizzles a generous amount of hot sauce over the nacho plate.

“Oh, _now_ we are _talking,”_ Toni says, helping herself to a couple more. 

“I’m out,” Kevin groans, fistbumping Reggie anyway. 

“Unbelievable,” Cheryl grumbles dramatically, rolling her eyes and tapping two immaculately manicured nails against her chin. “Can we _help_ you with anything, Reggie, or did you just come over here to seduce both my beloved _and_ her BFF’s ex away with your disgusting circus food?” 

Reggie shrugs, chewing a chip slowly like he really has to think about it before he shakes his head. 

“Nah, that’s about it.” He holds out a nacho. “Want one?” 

“Don’t mind if I do,” says Toni, plucking the chip in question from Reggie’s hand and popping into her mouth whole. 

“So generous, but I would rather gargle nail polish.” Cheryl smiles thinly, folding her arms on the table. “This is about you right now. Why don’t you go sit with Rocky and Apollo? Or did they finally develop some _standards_ against associating with overly thirsty third-wheels with drinking problems?” 

“Would you get the hell _over_ it? It’s friggin’ _lunch._ I gotta sit somewhere,” Reggie snaps back. “It's seriously not that deep.” 

He doesn’t think it is, anyway. It was either this table or sit with Archie, Munroe, Ronnie, and Betty, and Reggie just isn’t in the mood for that. He glances back at Cheryl, who is muttering something to Toni now, and briefly lets his gaze drop down to their interlocked hands on the table. 

“So,” he says, turning sideways on the bench toward Kevin. “How’s it been going, Kevin?” 

“Reggie, _always_ assume the answer to that is ‘incredibly weird,’” Kevin says, shaking his head. “But thanks for asking, what about you?” 

“You know me, Keller,” Reggie says with a roll of his shoulders and a shake of his head as well. “I’m awesome. Like, _so_ good.” 

“Great.” Kevin glances over toward the other table, then back to his own lunch, awkwardly silent for a few seconds. “And I take it everything must be cool with the football team?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“This is boring,” Cheryl interrupts, making Kevin just close his mouth again instead of answering. “Look, if you are going to sit here, at _least_ make yourself useful and tell T.T. that Villanelle and Eve are _the_ perfect couples costume concept for Halloween.” 

“Babe,” Toni sighs. “It’s not that I don’t like the idea, but no one is going to get it.”

“Um,” says Reggie, frowning in confusion. “It’s September.” 

“Yes, well, not everyone can just put on a tight wife beater and fake mustache and claim that they’re Freddie Mercury, now can they?” Cheryl snaps impatiently. _”Real_ costumes take time and planning.” 

“Well, I don’t get it.” 

_“See_ , Cheryl?” Toni slaps the table in vindication. _“That’s_ why I’m saying we should just do Harley and Ivy.” 

Kevin and Reggie exchange glances. 

“From Batman,” Toni clarifies. 

“Oh.” Reggie nods and tips a finger-gun her way as he finishes chewing another hot mouthful of nachos, turning it over into a thumbs up as he swallows. “Yeah, they’re hot. Do that one.” 

“Ugh.” Cheryl rolls her eyes. “Forget it. I should have known better than to ask for input from the Personified Male Gaze.” 

“Huh?” Reggie looks over at Kevin, then back at Cheryl. “I thought you were asking me.” 

“She’s just mad that you’re taking my side,” Toni says, laughing and patting Cheryl’s shoulder, who _hmphs_ indignantly but then takes a bite of her own lunch. “And how will _you_ be topping Queen this year, Reg?” 

She, Cheryl and Kevin exchange vaguely smirky looks between them, which Reggie chooses to ignore. 

“I dunno yet,” he says, which is true. Reggie actually loves Halloween -- he doesn’t usually bother with costumes unless he’s going to a party, since his other favorite Halloween activities are better to _not_ get recognized doing -- and probably would have at least given _some_ thought to plans by now any _other_ year, but this one has been off to such a complicated start already that he’s had too many other things on his mind.

He gives it some thought, though. 

“Is anyone throwing a party?” 

“Well, I can’t speak for whatever soiree _Veronica_ may or may not be concocting, but I certainly won’t be,” Cheryl says, sighing sharply. “I’m currently entrenched in far too many... _family politics_ to organize yet another event for our vile new principal to call the sheriff on.” 

Cheryl’s sentiment is agreeable enough. None of them like Mr. Honey. 

“I can’t throw one either,” Reggie says. “Though don’t ask me why.” 

And predictably, they don’t. 

“Maybe we can do something here,” he continues. “Like a costume party pep rally.” 

“You know, Reginald…” Cheryl cocks her head. “That may be the first smart thing you’ve said all day.” 

▪︎▪︎

Just like that, a loose plan is set in motion. They’re still in mid-September, which gives them _just_ enough time to organize, whether they go through the school or have it to take it upon themselves. Of course, if anyone can get such a thing done it’s Cheryl Blossom (and company). 

Reggie is happy to do his part, because he likes Halloween, and it gives him something else to focus on. After lunch he chews on a toothpick and sets up a group text during class to start spreading the word and gauging interest.

**WHAT DO WE WANT? 📣  
🤸🏽🗣️ PEP RALLY 🏈🔥  
WHEN DO WE WANT IT 🗣️  
HALLOWEEN 🎃☠️  
Don’t let 🍯 kill our 🐝💤……  
Football field Halloween night  
Come in costume!!!!**

Awesome.

Once he sends that over to Cheryl first for approval, he shoots Archie and Munroe a quick head’s up as well.

> > U dudes got plans 4 Halloween yet? 
> 
> **Archie:** Not sure…  
>  **Archie:** R U throwing a party? We’ll try to make it. Ronnie’s friend in NYC is making us costumes!

_Us._ Who is ‘us?’

> > Couples costumes? Bro 😂 ❤️
> 
>  **Archie:** Haha  
>  **Archie:** Well for me Ronnie and Munroe
>
>> 💬  
>  💬  
>  💬  
>  Oh lol right on  
>  Well we’re tryin to get a costume party pep rally goin so keep me posted  
>  Hit up Cheryl 4 more deets if u got any qs
> 
>  **Munroe:** Count me in I love me a good pep rally 👍🏿

Reggie goes from stressed out to pumped to irritable in the span of under a minute, which is possibly a new record for him. Well, whatever, it’ll probably be fine. If the party works out then Reggie knows he’ll have a great time whether Archie and Munroe show up -- together or individually -- or not, and that’s all that should matter. Cheryl gives him the thumbs up, so the group text goes out and word begins to get around.

There’s no practice that day, so Reggie doesn’t end up talking to either of them much more than that after all. Not today, but maybe tomorrow. That should be more than enough space to get Reggie feeling normal again. 

He already knows he’ll need that after tonight, since one way or another he’s going to get it from his parents, and he has no delusions against it being brutal. 

Once he finds out they’ll be having dinner together as a family, that all but confirms it. Their schedules frequently tend to differ, so they don’t often eat dinner together (at least not all three of them), and those they do have are almost always tense-- either because none of them have much to say to each other, or because his parents both want to lay into him about something.

His mother corners him first after he gets home, telling him plainly that he’s to be grounded for three weeks; straight home from school every day except for football practice, no parties, no dates, no video games, no Pop’s, no nothing. Furthermore, he’ll have to work two days a week after school and alternating weekends at the dealership to help pay off the damages to his father’s car, which 3/4ths of Reggie’s allowance will also be going toward until it’s paid in full. And _furthermore_ \--

Blah blah blah about his grades, something something time to buckle down and think about his future. Blah blah blah enough is enough, they’ve been willing to look the other way while he sowed his wild teenage oats up to now, but he’ll be graduating this year and blah blah MBA something something Mantle legacy. 

Give him a friggin’ break already. Reggie zones out pretty early into it, but he knows the script practically by heart; his parents have chewed him out over the same handful of things enough times for him to have nearly all their hyper-specific expectations memorized by now. No matter how hard he might work to meet them or not, somehow he often finds himself in some kind of trouble anyway, so even he’s had a deep-seated fear of failure beaten into him over the years, after a while it all starts not to matter so much.

Dinner begins better than expected, though. His parents eat quietly for about ten minutes or so, and while Reggie knows he’s being given the silent treatment, he finds it strangely peaceful. 

His father, as expected, breaks the silence first. 

“So Reggie,” he says without looking up, cutting into some pork. “You heard back about college yet?”

Reggie looks from his dad to his mom, but they both just look up at him with stern, expectant expressions. 

“Not yet,” he says. 

“Where else did you apply?” Marty asks without looking up from his plate. “Besides Columbia and U-Penn.” 

“Uh...” Reggie bites the corner of his lip, trying to stall, but then says: “Well, Stanford...” 

His dad snorts but says nothing, so Reggie continues after a brief pause.

“Tulane, Penn State, University of Washington… NYU…” 

_“NYU?_ Right,” laughs Marty derisively. “So you can major in Philosophy and Tap Dance? Or-- Lindy, what was that music class you said they had?”

“Music Therapy.” 

_”Music Therapy.”_

“They’ve got a good--” 

“Why don’t you just save us the tuition money and drop out of school now? Go down to the Southside and get fitted for a Serpents jacket so you can spend the rest of your life slinging sugar and blowing homos in parking lots to get your next fix. When did you become such a damn sissy, Reggie?”

Reggie says nothing, wrinkling his nose as his dad shakes his head and shovels more food into his mouth. 

“And then answer me this, who’s going to run the dealership after I retire, huh? Maybe I should hire that Munroe kid, since clearly _he_ gives a damn. Does that sound good to you?”

Reggie glowers silently, prodding at his food. 

“Well? Does it?” Marty whacks the back of Reggie’s head with his palm. “I’m talking to you.” 

“Ow-- no!” 

God, he hates it here. The amount of times he’s seriously considered getting into his car and just _driving_ until he gets to New York City is not insignificant. 

“You know, when I was your age I had these dreams of moving out west and surfing all along the coast,” Marty goes on. “I didn’t have what you have, Reggie. _Your_ problem is that you have it too good-- I didn’t go west, I invested in my future and built that damn dealership from scratch, you hear me? From the ground up. And do you think your grandfather just stroked my hair and gave me handouts? Hell no. This?”

He gestures around the dining room, but what he means is bigger than just this room; what he means is ‘ _the dealership, this house, this life.’_

“This is all thanks to me and your mother.” 

Reggie can’t stand this lecture no matter how many times he hears it. His parents are both assimilated to hell and back, especially his dad, but that never stops them from digging their heels into a good lesson on _bootstraps_ whenever they think Reggie isn’t falling into line fast enough to their liking-- like it isn’t _enough_ he’s already basically resigned himself to a lifetime of selling cars for the family business instead of figuring out his future for himself. 

Not that he really knows what he’d do instead, though. Reggie has always told himself, and anyone else who would listen, that _he_ is _not_ going to peak in high school, but all the same he hasn’t given much thought to what his life could or should be like after graduation. He always figured college would help clear that up for him, because growing up in Riverdale makes it hard sometimes to imagine ever actually leaving, or growing out of whatever identity high school creates for you. 

Who is Reggie Mantle without football, without Riverdale High, without his reputation in this town and the comfort of his family’s money? He doesn’t really know. If he takes over the family business, he doesn’t ever really need to.

“I don’t _need_ an MBA just to sell some old cars,” he mutters, although he knows he won’t change their minds. 

“He thinks he doesn’t need business skills to run a business, Lindy,” Marty quips. “A kid whose only A’s have been in _gym class_ since he was in middle school.” 

“Reggie, while you’re grounded I expect you to catch up on your music lessons,” Melinda says, looking at him sharply from across the table. “At least an hour per day. Honestly, when is the last time you’ve even _touched_ your violin?” 

“Mom, _everyone_ plays violin! Do you know how _basic_ that’s gonna look on my transcripts?” Reggie has to bite back a more inflammatory version of that comment, but then continues with: “I’d rather play guitar.”

“Everybody plays guitar,” Marty says dismissively, sipping his beer. Melinda makes a hum of agreement. Reggie can only imagine she’s thinking something like, _’Fred Andrews played guitar, and now he’s dead. What do you have to say about that, Reggie?’_

Death would probably be preferable to this conversation, but Reggie soldiers on. 

“Archie said he’d show me how. He could give me lessons,” Reggie says slowly, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “He has this bass he doesn’t use that I could--” 

Neither of his parents are listening anymore. Reggie stops talking and just eats in increasingly sullen silence. 

“Oh, some good news,” says Marty after about ten more minutes, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I talked to my insurance this afternoon, convinced them to cover at _least_ a third of the repair cost. Maybe more. The guy I tore into on the phone said his higher ups wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.” 

He looks at Reggie, who just flinches and nods.

“We’ll stick to half your allowance and every other weekend at the lot. After school I want you focused on improving your football game.” 

“Yes sir.” Reggie resists the urge to roll his eyes. Like he doesn’t _want_ to be doing his best out there? Please. 

“Great.” Marty looks satisfied. “Good talk.” 

▪︎▪︎

The next day doesn’t begin much better than how the last one ended. At some point before first period, Mr. Honey pulls Reggie aside. 

“Mr. Mantle. A word?” 

“Do we have to?” 

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid we do,” Honey sighs, holding out his hand. “Your phone, please.”

“Why?” 

“I think you know why,” says Honey, but waits for Reggie to tell him anyway. Reggie doesn’t, staring at him silently. “This Halloween pep rally you and Cheryl Blossom have been organizing.” 

Organizing seems like too strong a word for it at this stage in their planning, but Reggie still says nothing. 

“It won’t be happening,” Mr. Honey says finally, starting to get impatient.

“What?” Reggie breaks, indignant. “Why not?!” 

“I don’t condone that stripe of mischief here on school grounds. Especially not the football field in the middle of the season, especially not on Halloween. Who do you think will be cleaning up after you kids? The silly-string, the candy, the pumpkins, probably _plenty_ of illegal alcohol…” 

Reggie’s heart starts to sink a little, but he clenches his jaw in preparation to argue. 

“--School would be liable for anything that happened to any one of you, whether the event is unsanctioned or not. Not to mention some students have been receiving threatening video tapes in the mail, so under no circumstances will I be--” 

He keeps talking even after Reggie’s begun to tune out, but at some point holds out his hand again. 

“So I’ll ask you _again_ , Mr. Mantle: Phone, please. Now.”

Reggie rolls his eyes and hands it over. 

“Unlock it,” Mr. Honey says, then grabs it from him once Reggie has. 

“Hey!” 

After a seconds of lightning quick swiping and typing, Mr. Honey grins with satisfaction before holding up the phone. The group chat now reads:

> **Just kidding. This is a retraction: This party is cancelled, effective immediately. Any students caught on Halloween night congregating on the football field will be given a 2 week detention. Any students caught on Halloween night congregating on the football field after receiving this warning will be given an additional 3 day suspension.**
>
>> \- 👓🍯

“There we are,” he says. “And that goes double for you, Mr. Mantle, if I hear any more about this.”

“I can’t get detention,” Reggie says. “I’m already grounded!” 

“Good,” says Mr. Honey. “Then you’ll be invested in making sure people listen.” 

He strolls away smugly, leaving Reggie glaring after him. 

Great. So the party idea hadn’t lasted long at all. Well, cancelling that doesn’t mean Reggie isn’t already forming _other_ \-- possibly even better -- ideas about how to spend Halloween instead, but it does nothing to help distract him in the short term. Not even Cheryl seems interested in fighting for their pep rally, citing yet again too many ‘family politics’ on her plate to want to bother. 

Reggie mutes his notifications amidst the deluge of confused replies to Mr. Honey’s retraction blowing up his phone. He’ll deal with them later, after he’s taken some of his frustration out in football practice. After the last couple of days he’s had, getting out there with the Bulldogs is _all_ he wants to do.

Only Munroe is in the locker room after school, which threatens to be awkward if Reggie allows it to be, but he refuses to. 

“Hey,” says Munroe, pulling his uniform on. “Long time no see.” 

“Yeah,” Reggie says, smirking a little humorlessly. He doesn’t look over. “Where’s Archie?” 

“At the gym. He had to leave early to go take care of something.” Munroe shrugs a bit, clapping Reggie’s shoulder as he heads out onto the field. “Just you and me today.” 

Reggie would have thought this would bother him more, but actually, he feels relieved. He doesn’t want to feel this comfortable with Munroe still, especially after that dream and after what his dad had said about him, but Reggie can’t help it. Munroe is actually a decent, cool guy. 

Practice is efficient, productive, and a little brutal. Reggie gets the opportunity to apply some of what Munroe showed him into action, and pursues Munroe with almost tunnel-visioned intensity. Munroe evades, dodges, pins Reggie down, but Reggie flips him over, straddling Munroe and holding him down for (perhaps) longer than necessary just to prove that he can before getting up again. 

When things wind down they sit next to each other on the bleachers about two feet apart, squirting themselves with their water bottles to cool off.

“Sucks about the pep rally,” Munroe says, looking over. “It sounded like fun.” 

Reggie looks back, sighing slowly. 

“I know, right?” He brushes his sweaty hair from his forehead, shrugging a little. “Leave it to Principal _Buzzkill_ to kill something great before it even like, gets off the freakin’ _ground_.” 

“Mmh. He needs to get a life.” 

“Yeah.” Reggie bites at the inside of his cheek, then glances over to the parking lot. “Hey, I gotta get home soon, but if you want I can give you a ride.” 

“Good deal,” Munroe says, nodding and getting to his feet. He holds out a hand to help Reggie up, and after a moment of hesitation, Reggie takes it. It’s casual and easy, their hands both big and slightly calloused but still softer than one might expect, linking together comfortably. 

Reggie doesn’t let go right away even once he’s standing, but makes a show of doing so gradually as he gets his footing on the bleachers.

“Things have been cool at home?” Munroe asks, utterly casual. 

“Mm.” Reggie opens his car door, unlocking the passenger side for Munroe. “Normal.”

Munroe nods but doesn’t prod any further, which Reggie is grateful for. 

“How ‘bout you?” He starts up Bella, letting the engine rev a bit before he begins backing out. “You got the place to yourself this week, right? That must be nice.” 

“Well, I guess so. It’s quiet, anyway,” says Munroe, looking out the window. “But I kinda prefer having people around.” 

“Oh yeah?” Reggie glances over. He does too, generally, but not at home. 

“Yeah,” says Munroe, looking over too. “I’m used to it at home, but even when I was in juvie I still had a cellmate, you know? Having you stay over kinda reminded me what that felt like.” 

“Um… is that like, a _good_ thing?” 

“Yeah.” Munroe laughs, shaking his head. “Like I’d tell you all that if it wasn’t.” 

It occurs to Reggie that maybe Munroe is less like Archie than he thought. Archie is big on the sensitive approach, to confronting feelings and trying to resolve things by talking them out, but Reggie has never been like that. He knows, especially now, that it’s probably because Archie’s always _had_ people he can talk to in his life, but for Reggie that’s always felt too glaringly vulnerable to deal with. If he’s standing up for something he wants or needs that’s one thing, but simply confiding about problems or asking for help is usually beyond him. 

If it were up to Reggie, he’d only ever focus on the things in his life that make it good, so that all the bad could just stay sunken down at the bottom of his mind. He wants to be that guy people see him as, the big man on campus with the sexy car and the well-off, easy life. 

He doesn’t know if Munroe thinks that way, too, but the mere fact that Munroe doesn’t ask Reggie too many questions makes him think that he does. Maybe Munroe, like Reggie, prefers not to dwell on the painful parts of his own life and knows that some things can’t be solved just by listening or fighting back. Maybe he understands that sometimes it’s better to just feel _good_ with your friends and to help them feel the same, to live it up as a distraction from the parts of life that can hurt. 

Archie goes out of his way, even now, to still make his life harder, but Reggie isn’t so sure that Munroe is the same way. Maybe Reggie and Munroe are alike in some ways, too.

Munroe doesn’t ask him hard questions, but waits for Reggie to volunteer the information instead. Reggie usually takes that approach with friends, but now he decides to take that approach with Munroe as well. It seems only fair. 

“My parents weren’t around much when I was a kid, so now that I’m back with my grandma and Malcolm, I like spending as much time with them as I can,” Munroe continues after a few minutes of silence. Reggie keeps his eyes front, but glances over occasionally. “I had to sell a bunch of my stuff to keep my brother fed and in school, and I dunno where the rest of it ended up after I went to juvie except whatever gran managed to hold onto.” 

“Oh.” Reggie hesitates, nodding slowly as he flips his blinker on. “Yeah, your room looked pretty bleak, bro.”

Munroe chucks Reggie’s shoulder lightly, but it’s more playful than angry. 

“I got some old books and movies in my closet, and there’s this like, old pair of sneakers I got right before I went to juvie and totally outgrew ‘em. And other stupid stuff from back when I was a kid.” Munroe laughs again, sitting back a little and leaning his foot up against the dash before falling quiet again.

“Anything from juvie?” Reggie asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know if it’s invasive or not, he’s just curious. Munroe stays quiet for a bit longer, but only a bit. 

“Some letters,” he says. “My old cellmate Joaquin wrote a whole bunch to his boyfriend that he never sent out. For a while I think that was the only thing keepin’ him going, so when he left--” 

Reggie rubs at his mouth a little uncomfortably. He remembers Joaquin and remembers when he was found dead amidst all the GNG activity last year, but that’s about all he’d known about it. 

“I thought I’d hold onto them. Dunno what I’ll _do_ with them now, but it didn’t seem right to throw ‘em away.” 

“Totally.” Reggie doesn't know what he’d do in that situation, but if it had been him and Joaquin was his good friend, he’d like to think he’d do something like this. 

He’d like to, but he doesn’t have anything in his room that reminds him of Jason or Midge anymore. There are still some photos saved on his phone and on his social media pages, but everything else has been stored away in the attic, well out of sight and mind. Physical pain he can deal with, but emotional pain he still doesn’t know how to. 

So, he doesn’t. 

“Have you read any of ‘em?” 

“No. I think about it sometimes, but…” Munroe shakes his head. Reggie nods. Again, he can’t say for certain that’s what he would have done, although like before, he’d still like to think so.. This is one of those moments where preserving what he and Munroe do have in common feels more important than his own reactive impulses. 

“I think it’d creep me out a little,” Reggie says slowly. “But you guys must’ve been pretty close, huh?” 

“Not really. But kind of.” Munroe shrugs. “He had nightmares a lot, so sometimes I’d let him climb into bed and just lay with me awhile.”

Reggie looks over, and Munroe looks back. 

“Not like that.” 

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t say anything!” Reggie responds quickly, looking forward again. His ears feel a little hot, but that might just be his imagination. “Even if you were gay, bro, like, I’m cool with it. I know gay people.”

“Oh, do you?” Munroe laughs. “Congratulations.” 

“Well... I mean--” Reggie doesn’t know what he means. “Don’t get offended or whatever, I just said _if.”_

“I’m _not_ offended. Just--” Munroe sighs, sitting back. “Look, I’m not gay, though I do like guys. Known it for a while too.” 

“Oh,” Reggie says, frowning a little but waiting for Munroe to elaborate. 

“But like, I think I still like girls, too,” Munroe adds slowly. “I _think.”_

Reggie watches him, not wanting to seem _too_ interested, but he couldn’t be more curious. 

“What do you mean you _think?_ ” He asks after a moment. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“It’s--” Munroe hesitates, pursing his lips before he shakes his head. “I mean, it’s _easy_ to think that when you know it’s what you’re supposed to do, right? I’ve never been all that close with any girl I wasn’t related to, though. Even when I wanna be, I get all… tense. Like I want them to like me, but I can’t really be myself, either. I feel this pressure just to be what they want me to be.” 

Reggie listens, nodding a little in acknowledgement so Munroe will continue. 

“But with guys it’s different,” Munroe says, supplying the obvious. “I’m relaxed, I’m myself, I can hang out for hours and not get tired of it at all. So.” 

He looks over. 

“I don’t know what you’d call that.” 

Reggie doesn’t know either. He’s rarely speechless, but this is one of those times; he just stares silently, mind slightly blown, because what Munroe’s describing is so… 

Well, Reggie understands it far more than he was expecting to. 

“Oh,” he says. “Huh.” 

They pull up in front of Munroe’s house not much long after, but they sit in silence for a moment after Reggie parks. 

“For what’s it worth, I wouldn’t care if you’re gay either,” says Munroe, continuing before Reggie has a moment to protest. “But if that’s the case, _Veronica’s_ your big competition, not me.” 

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Juviebird,” Reggie says, but he laughs a little, swatting at Munroe’s shoulder as Munroe gets out of the car. “Catch you later?”

“Yeah. Later.” 

Munroe leans down to fistbump Reggie briefly, then turns to head inside. Reggie lingers a little while before he starts the car up again, watching Munroe go in and trying to ignore his racing pulse. 

_It’s easy to think that when you know it’s what you’re supposed to do, right?_

_I want them to like me, but I can’t really be myself, either. I feel this pressure just to be what they want me to be._

_But with guys it’s different._

“Fuck,” Reggie mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before he starts home. “It doesn’t freakin’ work like that.” 

And even if it did, Reggie doubts it would make life any less complicated. Even if it did, it has nothing to do with him. 

But now he can’t stop thinking about it.


	4. no regret (or, To All The Bros I’ve Loved Before)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, fine. He’d been a little attracted to Moose and Archie like he is to Munroe now, too. He can admit that to himself, right here in the privacy of his own room, but he can’t quite put into words why that scares him so damn much.
> 
> At what point does it stop being normal? At what point does admiration of how a guy looks, how tough he is or how masculine or how talented, go beyond normal admiration and become attraction?

Time passes, but not too much changes. Halloween comes and goes not at all as planned, and likewise Thanksgiving, but then things start to pick up again as the last football game of the season approaches and excitement ramps up around in the halls of Riverdale High. 

Not much changes between Reggie, Munroe and Archie except that the three of them become tighter. Reggie and Munroe are friends now, plain and simple, although they haven’t talked again about that one conversation they had in Reggie’s car. 

Neither of them has brought it up, so it’s almost like it never happened, even if neither of them is outright pretending it _didn’t_ , either. Munroe is simply a private person, and while Reggie isn’t quite as much, he still prefers to not deal with anything he doesn’t quite know how to process properly. 

It does stick with him, though. He can’t get it out of his head completely, no matter how much he tries to distract himself. 

“Hey, Kev, can I ask you something?” Reggie says one day, slowing down by Kevin’s locker when the hallway crowd has thinned a little. 

“Sure, Reggie. Go for it.” Kevin doesn’t look over at him until he’s done pulling his books out from his bag, but then he slams the locker door shut and gives Reggie his attention. 

Reggie swallows, hesitating for a second, but then he leans in and jerks his head to indicate they can walk and talk. 

“First of all,” he begins as they start walking, voice lower. “Just to be clear, this is 100% hypothetical, okay?” 

“Okay…” Kevin quirks an eyebrow. “What is it?” 

“I just wanna know…” He pauses again, trying to figure out how to articulate himself. “If someone like, told you I was gay, would you think it was true?” 

“What? Who--” 

_”Hypothetically,_ Keller!” 

Kevin is clearly having trouble following where Reggie might be going with this, but luckily, he’s one of those people that doesn’t tend to understand the ‘why’ behind Reggie saying or doing anything half the time. Though obviously curious, he seems to decide it’ll be easier not to question Reggie too much for the time being. 

“Well, I guess it’d first depend on _who_ said it, because if someone heard that from _me_ they’d probably just write it off as wishful thinking,” Kevin says after a moment or two of thought. “But in general? Yeah, probably.” 

Reggie isn’t expecting that answer, which shows in the way his eyebrows raise straight up in surprise.

“What? Why?” 

Kevin laughs awkwardly as they walk, unsure how to respond. 

“I don’t know, you just…” He stops near the doorway to his next class, letting other students go in past them. “I mean you’re _vain_ , you can be catty, you’re pretty fashionable, obsessed with masculinity, kinda tend to fixate on specific guys, like, _a lot_... I’m just saying that it’s believable. Take it from someone who has a decent amount of experience dealing with closeted athletes.” 

Reggie falls quiet for a few long seconds, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows as he seems to think that over. 

“Not that any of that necessarily means anything,” Kevin adds quickly, nervously filling the silence. “Like maybe you’re bi, or maybe you’re just, uh, really, _really_ comfortable with who you are in a totally non-conformist but super heterosexual way.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” Reggie says, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m-- look, that’s not what I’m doing,” Kevin says with a sigh. “I’m just trying to answer your question honestly, okay? Gun to my head, that’s my opinion.” 

“Fine. Point taken,” Reggie says stiffly, getting bitchy the way he always does when he’s feeling defensive. “Thanks for nothing, Keller.” 

“Wait-- Reggie, I thought that’s--” 

But he doesn’t wait. Reggie stalks off sulkily, feeling pissed off and fucking stupid for thinking Kevin might somehow _get_ it, or for thinking anyone would ever take him seriously. If he was gay, _if he was_ , it’s crap like that which would keep him in the closet almost as much as his parents do. 

Er… would. 

He’s overthinking this, probably -- almost definitely -- but it’s something that’s been on his mind a lot lately, ever since Munroe made that joke about not caring if Reggie was gay. 

_If that’s the case, Veronica’s your big competition, not me._

As if. He’d laughed it off at the time, of course, both of them had, but it got him wondering if anyone really thought that about him. 

Like, that can’t be a real thing, is it? Liking a girl just because you think you’re supposed to? Liking one because you _also_ like her boyfriend more than just as a friend? 

For no reason at all, he thinks about Midge Klump, those times when Moose wasn’t around that she and Reggie had playfully (but harmlessly) flirted with each other. Reggie had never meant it seriously, he wouldn’t do that to Moose (#brosbeforeS/Os) but he’d also been a lot more physically friendly with Moose after Midge came into the picture. 

Why? No particular reason. That’s just how things had worked out. 

And sure, maybe that’s also how things have ended up working out with Archie, too, but that doesn’t really mean anything. 

After some debate, he sits with Cheryl and Toni at lunch and asks them the same question.

“Well, well,” Cheryl says, folding one leg over the other and smiling a little smugly. “You know, I always expected this would happen. You always reeked even _more_ of repressed desperation than Moose Mason did.” 

Reggie stands right back up again. 

“Good talk. Bye,” he says sourly, turning to leave, but Toni catches him by the wrist. 

“Hold on, Reggie,” she says, then looks over at Cheryl. “Babe, why don’t you let me handle this?” 

Cheryl sighs sharply. “Very well, T.T. But,” she adds, looking pointedly at Reggie. “If this turns out to be some kind of ruse, or you put even a single sweaty male molecule out of line? Then I will claw your eyes out, Reggie Mantle.”

She smiles at Toni. 

“Okay, proceed.” 

Toni rolls her eyes in bemusement, letting go of Reggie’s hand. Reggie sits back down, regretting he ever brought this up at all. 

“Look, just forget it,” he says. “It was _only_ hypothetical anyway.” 

“Right, _but…”_ Toni sighs, drumming her nails on the table for a moment. “Does that matter to you? What people think?” 

“I mean, yeah, like, I _guess_ , but--” 

“I get it, all right? When I first realized I liked girls I went through this like, _insane_ identity crisis. Like was I _gay_ , did I just really want to be friends with these girls, did I just want to be more like them, did I really like _guys_ or did I just think I _had_ to like guys--” 

“Yeah, but you’re a girl,” says Reggie. “It’s different.” 

“Uh, yeah, and what does _that_ have to do with it?” 

“I don’t mean it in like, a _bad_ way, just…” Reggie sighs, frustrated. “It’s like how you guys can wear a skirt _or_ pants and it doesn’t have to mean anything, you know? You can be gay, or straight, _or_ bisexual, but dudes can only be just one or the other.” 

“Oh my god,” Cheryl says. 

“Listen, Reggie,” Toni begins simply. “No matter what you’ve been socialized to think about guys needing to fit into more binary boxes than girls do when it comes to sexuality… that just isn’t how it works. Anyone can be bi, regardless of your gender. And sometimes you just like someone no matter which one they are.” 

“I’ve gotta go,” Reggie says abruptly, suddenly uncomfortable. Toni looks startled, but Cheryl doesn’t look surprised. 

“I think you broke him, T.T.” 

“Reggie, it’s f--” 

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s been hoping to hear by asking that question, he doesn’t know what he thought Kevin or Toni or even Cheryl would have to say, but he doesn’t feel particularly reassured by any of it as he walks quickly out of the lunch room, quickly down the hallway even though he has no idea where he’s walking to, just that his heart is racing abnormally fast and he’s feeling suddenly queasy. 

How hard is it to just tell him the truth? To just tell him what he wants to hear, which is ‘ _Obviously not, Reggie. No one would seriously believe you’re gay,_ ’ and then leave it at that? 

On the one hand, _does_ he care? Does it really matter what people think of him? Reggie’s always had a rather cavalier attitude toward dropping crass sexual innuendo and TMI information without a thought, and he’s never cared if people thought he was immature or disgusting or overly horny for it. His reputation is what it is, and the more he keeps it that way, the less people overthink anything he does-- they just accept it, charmed or put-off in equal measure by his matter-of-fact oversharing and ability to wear so many of his thoughts or feelings on his sleeve. 

On the other hand, yes, he cares very much what people think of him. He still wants people to respect and appreciate him, admire him for his skills and his looks and his confidence, even if they think he’s a crude fuckboy at the same time. Talented, popular people are allowed that sort of arrogance. 

But it’d be different if they all thought he liked guys. Reggie may not know this for a fact, but he feels certain of it all the same. 

Now that the clock is ticking down not just to their final game of the season, but _ever_ , their final football game at Riverdale High as the Bulldogs, Reggie can’t help spinning out a little more uncontrollably than normal. It’s his senior year, and after this game, that’s it. 

No more football. 

Basketball, sure, but Reggie’s never been as invested in basketball. After this all that’ll be left for him this year are lesser supplements to an identity he rapidly feels unraveling at the seams lately. Some part of him mourns the simplicity of denial, when he didn’t feel like he was questioning so many different parts of himself all at once. 

Or worse, _losing_ them. 

He regrets ever starting to even pull at this thread, because now he can’t seem to stop. 

▪︎▪︎

The closer they get to the championship game, the more his emotions seem to even out, if only slightly-- Reggie’s version of the term, at any rate. One minute he’s nearly bursting with second hand pride that at least _one_ of them is being scouted for a football scholarship, which is something he’d have never in a million years seen himself supporting Munroe in just a few months ago, and the next he’s going ballistic on Stonewall Prep for ambushing Munroe and breaking his leg. 

They don’t win the game, but Munroe gets tapped by Notre Dame anyway, which is almost just as good. Reggie can’t help but be a little jealous, naturally, but mostly he’s happy for him. 

He really is. 

“To the Bulldogs!” Reggie cheers, raising a rootbeer float in toast at Pop’s after the game. Munroe and Archie clink their milkshake glasses to his. 

“To the Bulldogs,” they agree, and all drink deeply. 

_”And--”_ Reggie adds, wiping foam from his lip. “To Munroe!” 

“To Munroe!” They toast again, laughing and drinking. 

“I’m really gonna miss you guys,” Munroe says, beaming nonetheless. 

“Me too,” says Archie. “Reg, do you know where--”

“Nuh uh,” Reggie interrupts. “None of that tonight, _bromigos._ We’ve got the whole _rest_ of the year to think about graduation and college, but tonight? _Tonight_ is about us.” 

“I hear that,” Munroe agrees again, raising his shake. “To the Bulldogs.” 

“To the Bulldogs!” 

They may not have won their game, but right now it’s hard to really feel like losers. Right now, in the heat of their enthusiasm and celebration, it’s easy for Reggie not to overthink every time he and Munroe accidentally brush hands or knees or shoulders. It’s not something he’d overthink in the first place if he didn’t know what he knows now, but tonight gives him as good an excuse as any to put a pin in that information for the time being; tonight they all ruffle each other’s hair, clap each other on the backs, sling their arms over each other’s shoulders, slap each other's asses. 

Tonight’s for letting go, because starting tomorrow, everything will be different. No more high school football, and all that implies: no more games, no more practice, no more carefree nights like this. 

Reggie’s glad that he and Munroe are friends now, or else the two of them might not have any more reason to hang out once the season is over. Reggie’s lost so many other friends these past couple of years, he wants to hold onto the ones he still has for as long as he can. 

From Pop’s they continue on celebrating into the night, swinging by La Bonne Nuit for a round of drinks, this time toasting Munroe’s success with bottomless shots of Luna Rum. The three of them end up sprawled out on the football field after midnight, tipsy and content as they stare upward into the dark sky. 

Reggie lays his head on Munroe’s stomach, stretching his legs out until they overlap on top of Archie’s. 

“What a night, huh?” Munroe says, letting his arm lazily drape over Reggie’s shoulder. 

“You earned it, bro,” says Archie, looking over with a grin. “Hell, we all did.” 

“Woof! Bulldogs!” Reggie barks, kicking a leg up exburbently and pumping his fist toward the sky. All of them laugh. Maybe it’s the adrenaline and the booze talking, but Reggie can’t remember the last time he felt this good after _losing_ a football game. 

Going home will probably be a wake-up call there, because his dad is always happy to remind Reggie that settling for second best is the first step toward a life full of failures, but that’s all the more reason to make tonight as good and as long as possible. 

“How’s your leg?” Archie asks, prompting Reggie to turn his head and reaching out to run his hand down it. It’s true; Munroe’s recovery in time for the game was nothing short of miraculous, but that’s no surprise. Munroe is pretty incredible that way. 

“Feels good,” Munroe assures them. _”I_ feel good.” 

“Hell yeah,” Reggie says, grinning big and slapping his thigh. “You should feel good. You put up one helluva fight out there today, dude.” 

Munroe makes a warm, contented noise that Reggie feels rumble beneath him, making him smile again. 

Maybe it is the booze, but right now Reggie doesn’t care about what his feelings for Munroe do or don’t mean. With Archie and Moose he’s never cared, not really, as long as at the end of the day they were still friends. 

Later that week, Reggie has another dream. 

This time Archie is there too -- not the whole time, but certainly in the beginning -- though in the dream Reggie never questions it. Of course not. Getting between them has always been the goal, hasn’t it? Maybe not exactly like _this_ , but… dreams, man. The subconscious works in mysterious, layered ways. 

He kisses them both, first Archie, then Munroe, then climbs over Munroe as Archie moves behind him, out of sight but not yet out of mind entirely. Reggie pulls his shirt off, then starts undoing his pants with one hand while his other traces over the thick ridges of muscle beneath him. Then-- 

He wakes up, panicked and drenched with sweat. 

This is getting out of hand. _Way_ out of hand, past the point Reggie feels confident he can go on continuing to ignore it like nothing’s going on. He never had this problem with Archie or with Moose, mostly because they both have (or had) girlfriends; they were safely off the market for large portions of their friendship, enough that he never was forced into a position where he had to analyze his feelings like he’s having to do now. 

Not at all. 

That’s how he could be jealous of Munroe and not Veronica. It was understandable for Archie to pick a girl, but the mere possibility of that kind of competition from another _guy_ stirs up completely different emotions. 

Yes, fine. He’d been a little attracted to Moose and Archie like he is to Munroe now, too. He can admit that to himself, right here in the privacy of his own room, but he can’t quite put into words why that scares him so damn much.

At what point does it stop being normal? At what point does admiration of how a guy looks, how tough he is or how masculine or how talented, go beyond normal admiration and become attraction? 

Is this how Moose felt? Did he wonder if people wouldn’t want to change in the locker room around him anymore, if they’d question every shoulder pat and ass slap, if they’d start feeling uncomfortable making contact during football practice?

Reggie never did or felt any of those things, but then, Moose was gone almost as soon as Reggie had even found out about him. They were supposed to be best friends, but Moose had never once talked to Reggie about it. 

He’d never even tried to. 

Yet right now, Moose feels like maybe the _only_ other person Reggie can talk to about this, maybe the only person who will _really_ get it, except they haven’t spoken in months. Reggie has no idea if he’ll even hear back. 

Still, can it hurt? Probably not. 

He fumbles in the dark, texting something quick before he gets cold feet.

> > Yo how's it going dude  
>  In case u deleted my # this is Reg :P  
>  Text me back bro its important 

And then he turns his phone over and goes back to sleep.

There’d been a time, back when Reggie and Moose were younger as far back as first or second grade, that they had been practically inseparable. Reggie had been friends with Archie too back then, of course, but Archie spent most of his time with Betty or Jughead, and that had frustrated Reggie quite a bit-- even back then he was a competitive child, and he didn’t take well to rejection. He hated being in second place. 

With Moose it wasn’t like that. Moose followed Reggie wherever he went, he hung on Reggie’s every word, and naturally Reggie had adored that immensely. They fought a little at first, but then became best friends almost immediately. 

(Most of Reggie’s friendships begin on a foundation of fighting first.) 

Everything was simpler back in those days. Life was good, mostly. Even when it wasn’t, it was certainly far better than it could be nowadays at age 18. Back then Reggie and Moose could wrestle each other to the ground without it meaning anything but boys being boys, they could drink from the same soda can, laugh at Archie together for being so dumbly starry-eyed over a _girl,_ and even sleep in the same bed. 

(Moose sometimes objected to this latter, but only because Reggie was a blanket hog and always kicked him in his sleep. Their fathers never objected, because they never really found out just how much time their sons spent together.) 

It was all harmless, though. They were just kids, happy to find someone else who would listen and laugh and play with them. Their parents may not have been particularly affectionate, but it was okay because they still had each other. 

They didn’t stay quite that close, boys have to grow up someday, but Reggie misses the days when it was just the two of them hanging out and draping over each other without an ounce of self-consciousness-- that changed at some point, Reggie doesn't quite remember when, but then they got a bit of it back after Moose started dating Midge. 

At some point Reggie does remember wondering if it was probably weird to touch his friend as often as he did -- maybe one of their parents had made a comment about it, or he’d just simply started developing that particular guarded awareness on his own by then, that part he can’t recall -- but once Moose had a girlfriend it felt okay again. Somehow that very fact neutralized any danger that may (or may not) have been between them. 

Unlike... well. 

Munroe and Reggie already covered the subject of girlfriends relatively thoroughly. 

A few days into their winter break, Reggie’s phone buzzes idly in his pocket while he’s napping face down on his bed. He groans, fumbling it out to peer at the screen, but then sits up on his elbows, suddenly awake.

> **Moose:** Reggie hey!  
>  **Moose:** Whats up. Howv u been
> 
>   
> 
>
>> Hey!  
>  Good!  
>  Hbu??  
>  Dude its been months thats all u got 2 say????
>> 
>>   
> 
> 
> **Moose:** Sorry…  
>  **Moose:** Ive been kinda swamped  
>  **Moose:** Lifes been pretty crazy for me lately.
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> I get that bro I do  
>  But cmon  
>  We used to be best friends right??
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** Yeah.  
>  **Moose:** Sorry.  
>  **Moose:** I was at stonewall prep for a while, did u know jughead goes there now?
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Ur WHAT
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** I’m not there anymore tho, had to leave  
>  **Moose:** Joined the army  
>  **Moose:** Ya we were roommates
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Ur WHAT?  
>  What??  
>  No.  
>  Fucking.  
>  Way.  
>  Bro. Thats so random
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** I know right? Lol  
>  **Moose:** Its cool tho  
>  **Moose:** I’m doing ok now  
>  **Moose:** So what was so important?
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> When tf did u join the army?!?!?!?!?!  
>  Uhhhh  
>  💬  
>  💬  
>  💬  
>  Ok well  
>  Maybe IMPORTANT isnt exactly the word 4 it but  
>  There is sumthing we never rly got to talk abt b4 u left  
>  Know what I mean…...?
> 
>   
> 💬  
> 💬  
>  **Moose:** Ohhh  
>  **Moose:** Sure, right  
>  **Moose:** Is that cool
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> ?  
>  Wdym
>> 
>>   
> 
> 
> **Moose:** Like r u cool w/ it?
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Why wouldnt I be?
>> 
>>   
> 
> 
> **Moose:** Idk dude  
>  **Moose:** I didnt want u feeling wierd abt it or anything u know?
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> I dont feel weird abt that…  
>  Just kind of wish u’d told me lol :P  
>  But it’s w/e  
>  💬  
>  Howd u know anyway tho?
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** Well tbh I sorta knew since like middle skool but  
>  **Moose:** I was kinda in denial abt it for a long time  
>  **Moose:** I liked u 4 a while. Actually haha

Reggie feels his heart beating out of his chest, his vision swimming for a moment like he’s suddenly got vertigo. He puts his head against his pillow, taking a breath before he figures out how to respond

_Dude. Don’t tell me that now._  
  
  


> > ????  
>  R U serious?
>> 
>>   
> 
> 
> **Moose:** Ya  
>  **Moose:** That was part of why I first starting seeing Midge lol  
>  **Moose:** She looked kind of like u… so I thought itd help me get over it  
>  **Moose:** And it did. Kind of  
>  **Moose:** I did really like her u know.
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Bro seriously??  
>  Why couldnt u tell me all this b4  
>  I...
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** ?
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> I think I might like guys too.  
>  AND GIRLS  
>  But
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** Woahhhh  
>  **Moose:** That’s cool! :)
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Is it?
> 
>   
>  **Moose:** Well  
>  **Moose:** I mean I get why u wouldnt tell ppl  
>  **Moose:** But that doesnt make it not cool
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Didnt ur dad like go insane when he found abt u tho  
>  U had to move  
>  Transfer schools and who knows what else  
>  What do u think mine would do 
> 
>   
> **Moose:** I dont know  
>  **Moose:** It hasnt been easy...  
>  **Moose:** But I dont rly regret it either  
>  **Moose:** I miss Midge all the time but I miss kevin too  
>  **Moose:** At first I thot I was into him cuz he was the only gay kid we knew… & maybe thats a little true  
>  **Moose:** But then I rly liked him. Like allot  
>  **Moose:** So mostly I just regret we didnt get to spend more time together
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> Hmm  
>  So…  
>  What do u think I should do? 

They keep talking for a while, well into the night. Reggie missed talking to Moose even more than he'd realized.

▪︎▪︎

After break, as spring semester begins its steady march onward, Reggie doesn't necessarily feel any more certain than the day Munroe first came out to him. He feels _something,_ that much he has got figured out, but what exactly those feelings mean is the problem he’s still working on solving. 

Problem may ultimately be the wrong word, but it feels apt enough to him. For Reggie this _is_ a problem, if he can’t figure out what to do about it or how to live with it. He doesn’t think he can go on just pretending things are normal. 

Or if he even wants to. 

But he doesn't know what he wants anymore, if he ever really did. That’s always been his _other_ problem. Moose had asked him this while they were chatting, and Reggie hadn’t known what to tell him. 

He tries not to look over at Munroe too much as the two of them work on their lab assignment, once again in Munroe’s room because Reggie always insists on not bringing friends over when his parents are home. Some Pitbull song is playing quietly from Reggie’s song as background noise, but even with that he can’t focus on the work-- his concentration always suffers when he’s got things on his mind. 

Not necessarily a lot of things, just anything really. Reggie studies best running on adrenaline, energy drinks (and sometimes uppers), and some amount of sleep deprivation, typically. 

He nudges Munroe’s foot with his. Munroe looks up, smiling faintly. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Reggie’s sitting against the wall and Munroe, the bed, but after a moment’s hesitation Reggie moves from his spot to go sit next to Munroe, nudging his foot again.

“What’s up?” Munroe asks without looking up from his writing. “You comin’ over here to cheat?” 

“No,” Reggie says, laughing a little, but wetting his lips nervously. This is uncharted territory for him, but he thinks a lot about what Moose said to him: _’I just regret we didn't get to spend more time together.’_

He and Munroe will be graduating soon. This might really be a now or never situation. 

Reggie scoots closer, taking Munroe’s hand and simply holding it. Of all the many ways he’s touched other guys before, this one is a first, and Reggie feels his heart racing strangely even from just that much. 

Munroe looks over, briefly surprised, but then he smiles again and squeezes Reggie’s hand. Reggie does the same, leaning his head on Munroe’s shoulder. 

“Kind of hard to write like this,” Munroe says with amusement, as Reggie grows bold enough to make himself more comfortable, letting their fingers lace warmly together. 

“Then don’t.”


	5. knew it from the very first time we met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea of dating Munroe appeals to him in that idle, fantasy life sort of way, but it’s offset by being fully aware how complicated that would be in reality. If he didn’t like Munroe as much as he does, he’d be content enough to let it run its course and leave the rest up to fate, but he _does_ like Munroe. 
> 
> He likes him a lot. And Munroe likes him back.

It feels like the rest of the school year is over before they know it. 

Reggie and Munroe haven’t kissed, and they certainly haven’t done anything _more_ than that, but something has been happening. 

At the very least, something has changed. 

Now that summer vacation has arrived, Reggie can’t help but count down in his head how long before they’ll both be leaving Riverdale to go off to college, and as nice as the prospect of putting some distance between himself and Riverdale sounds, he doesn’t know where that will leave things with him and Munroe. 

They haven’t talked about it, not really, but they haven’t exactly needed to, either. Not yet. All they’ve done so far is… touch. 

Reggie had held Munroe’s hand, and Munroe had allowed it, had held it back. They didn’t say anything about it, and that night Reggie had gone home like normal, but the next day he’d tried again; he sat by Munroe, letting their knees touch, then casually rested his head in Munroe’s lap as they watched something on Reggie’s phone together. 

Maybe this isn’t as new to Munroe as it is to Reggie (he doesn’t know, because Munroe won’t talk about it) but so far, Munroe hasn’t seemed to mind. Reggie remembers things -- like how Munroe mentioned he prefers having people around, that he sleeps better when he’s not completely alone, how he used to let Joaquin into his bed so he could hold him through his nightmares -- so one night Reggie stays over and climbs into bed with Munroe, embracing him carefully from behind so his chin rests against Munroe’s shoulder and their hands clasp loosely over Munroe’s chest. 

Reggie doesn’t have bad dreams that often, he doesn’t even remember most of his dreams by morning, but he imagines maybe Munroe gets them sometimes. Munroe’s been through things that even Reggie couldn’t possibly understand, and he has a hard time believing that wouldn’t haunt someone from time to time, at least during those moments in their sleep when their defenses were down the farthest. 

And again, Munroe hasn’t seemed to mind. Reggie knows that he would make it clear if he did. 

Now that it’s summer, it’s a little harder to find excuses to hang out. If they were just friends they could get a group of guys together and do it that way (and well, that is something they do with Archie, and sometimes with Kevin or a few others) but now it’s a little more complicated to justify hanging out just the two of them. 

As long as they continue not to talk about it, that is. Neither of them seems to be in any particular hurry to acknowledge what’s going on out loud in words, let alone try to label it, but that same reticence makes it hard for Reggie to process any of it more adequately. 

His instinct, in general, has been to not overthink it too much. To let whatever happens happen. They’ll all be off to college soon anyway, a refreshing change of scenery for the next four years, which helps take some of the pressure off anything that happens this summer needing to mean much at all. That’s what summer is for, anyway; spontaneous, whirlwind adventures and romance. The summer before college is the chance to get everything out of your system for good, experiment with whatever dormant urges that may or may not be lurking curiously under the surface. 

He still might not be gay, Reggie has no idea yet how to navigate his own experiences and feelings enough to know how to label them appropriately, but it’s probably time for him to admit to himself that he isn’t… he probably isn’t _straight._

He probably never was straight. 

Bisexual sounds closest, but he isn’t sure of that either. And right now, that isn’t what matters most, anyway; what matters most is just figuring out where to go next, or how to go further. 

Because maybe what’s happening now is just a phase. But either way, can it really hurt to ride it out, see where it goes? 

Reggie doesn’t think so, not if they’re discreet. Having a built-in, ready end date makes it easier not to get cold feet regarding what it all means or where it could be leading, and well, he does like Munroe. He isn’t ready to let go of what they have just yet-- God knows it took them long enough to get even this far. After Veronica he didn’t think he’d ever want to find himself in another undefined quasi-relationship again, but even if her reasons differed from what he’s feeling now, he can at least understand the trepidation of putting a name to something so uncertain and beyond his own depth a little better now. 

Though this, of course, is definitely not a relationship. Reggie may not know exactly _what_ it is yet, but he does know what it isn’t. 

He’s slept over a few times by now, curled up against Munroe in his childhood twin bed, so soothed by the warmth Munroe’s body gives off and the steady rhythm of his breathing that Reggie barely find himself bothered by the uncomfortable way his long legs have to bend so they can both fit on the slightly cramped mattress.

His hands wander sometimes, when they’re that close and he’s half-asleep, but Munroe always carefully moves them back to his chest. Reggie never questions this, only spoons closer and falls deeper into sleep, but sometimes in the light of day he wonders what it means.

Are they or aren’t they? 

He’s never been in this place before with someone who didn’t want to fuck him, didn’t want to let him explore their body under his fingers. Most girls Reggie’s been with didn’t want to _date_ him, but they absolutely wanted to fuck him. 

Even the ones who wanted to date him a little while first _before_ fucking him still wanted to fuck him more than date him. 

Reggie knew this because they’d always be girls he didn’t actually know, typical status groupies or girls who’d seen him around and simply thought he was hot, and he always found girls like this boring-- they were never his type, never the kind of girls _he’d_ want to date, but it couldn’t bother him too much because it never lasted more than a few weeks anyway. Maybe a month, tops, of being some random chick’s arm candy until he’d find some excuse to end it. 

He never claimed to be a prince, after all. And if nothing else, he does enjoy the attention. 

Reggie has excellent boyfriend potential when he tries, but like with his friendships, he has to care enough for someone before he’ll make that effort. 

With Munroe, though, it almost feels as if he has the opposite problem… that Munroe might have some level of romantic affection for Reggie that so far has seemed to be entirely non-sexual. 

Is that even possible? 

Not that Reggie is necessarily eager to move that fast yet himself, but he’d at least like to know Munroe was _interested._ Reggie certainly is, even if he still needs a little more time before he’ll feel more mentally prepared, because physical touch -- physical affection, sports, violence, kissing, sex -- has always been his primary means of connecting to people, the only available option he’s had in many a case. 

Thanks to his overly critical, distant parents and a troubled history of emotionally repressed friendships and non-starter romances, his ability to connect with anyone in a meaningful emotional capacity has always been more stunted and underdeveloped compared to his peers; with patience and prodding and time he can get there, and eventually he always will, but it isn’t an effort that comes easily to him. He’s always been taught to think of opening up as gratuitously vulnerable, as _weak_ , that sensitivity and empathy was sissy shit, and even if he hasn’t held any of those things against his friends, what was acceptable for them and what’s acceptable for _him_ have always been leagues apart. 

Not just in Reggie’s point of view, but in reality, too. 

But it had always been fine, because having friends who were a little on the soft side only made him look tougher by comparison. Everybody wins. 

Truthfully, though, Reggie isn’t sure he’d even know how to initiate taking things further with Munroe, so maybe so far it’s been for the best. There’s only so much of his own sexual experience he can lean on for reference here, and otherwise all he has to go off of is porn, which is especially unhelpful. 

Or he could ask someone for advice, but of course _that_ isn’t happening any time soon. No... this is something he has to figure out on his own.

Most of the gay porn that Reggie’s ever watched before (and yes, he _has_ watched before) isn’t often particularly tender, but rather the kind he’s always felt it was more acceptable to enjoy; scenarios that, if he _were_ to ever fantasize, would be easier to insert himelf into. Hypermasculine fantasies and displays of power, of dominance and submission, extensions of dynamics Reggie has already always understood. Guys slamming each other up against walls, guys pinning each other down and claiming the other like a prize, guys asserting their alpha status to guys who respect it enough to submit. 

He never jerked off while watching any, of course. Sometimes afterward, but never during. That’d be too weird. But it could still be addictive at times how strangely accessible it’d feel, watching these situations play out that Reggie’s found himself in so often go just those few steps further. 

_I could do that,_ he’d catch himself thinking sometimes. _If being gay was that easy, I--_

Though he’d always stop himself there. 

Sometimes he’d find something else to watch, something that’d make him cringe and lose his arousal so he could remind himself of how much this wasn’t for him, that this _wasn’t_ him, and why. That yeah, maybe he could be gay if it _were_ as easy as simply shoving someone up against a locker and kissing them when no one else was around, _knowing_ they would kiss him back instead of just pushing him away and telling him no, but it’s not that easy, now is it? 

Rejection from girls is easy enough to brush off. Reggie flirts so casually and often, it’s only sometimes with any intent to actually take things further-- he knows it’s what’s expected of him, so when he says something inappropriate he’s not really putting himself out there at all. Certain types of rejection still hurt, of course, _real_ rejections of real feelings, but with surface-level advances he’s pretty much immune. 

Invincible, in a way, that blissful way that false overconfidence can grant a person; the way that makes it easy to brush off those ‘nos’ with a simple _’Their loss’_ and then move on with his life. 

The idea of being rejected by a _guy_ on any level, however, horrifies Reggie deeply. Being rejected by a guy would mean that guy would then know -- no, he’d _think_ \-- something about Reggie that might change his opinion about him forever, and Reggie wouldn’t even have anything to show for it. Maybe that guy would act all sickeningly understanding and supportive in that way Reggie doesn’t know how to accept or take comfort in, maybe that guy would tell people, or call Reggie something like _cocksucker_ , or never want to speak to Reggie again. 

Maybe a few of those things would happen, maybe none, but even just one of them, _any_ one, has always been one risk too many for Reggie. 

Which is why it’s a good thing he’s not gay and doesn’t have to worry about crap like that, not now, not ever.

Except that clearly, he does. He’s never been in his head this much whenever he’s hooked up with girls, that much is for sure-- not even when he was with Veronica, and he’d really believed he was in love with her. 

_‘Don’t overthink it’_ is so much easier said than done.

▪︎▪︎

They continue as they’ve been, and because Reggie still has these uncertainties of his own, he doesn’t take the slowness too personally. Munroe has always been somewhat difficult to read, so the aloofness is nothing new, if still a little difficult to work with.

But around July, something else changes. Munroe invites Reggie over for barbeque dinner and the two of them hang out on the porch late into the evening enjoying the warm summer night air, watching Webflix on Reggie’s phone as they both pick at a slice of pecan pie with forks.

“I thought this was supposed to be a romantic comedy,” Reggie says, laying his head against Munroe’s thigh and stuffing another forkful of pie into his mouth. “He’s got a friggin’ Hannibal Lecter cage in his _basement!”_

“Yeah, uh…” Munroe shakes his head, tapping the screen to pause it a moment while he steals an errant pecan from the plate and pops it into his mouth. “I think that ship has sailed.” 

“You wanna watch something else?” Reggie asks, glancing up. He’s gotten kind of invested in this weird-ass show by now, but he doesn’t mind watching it later on his own-- admittedly, it’s not exactly chill summer night feel-good TV. 

“Like a romantic comedy?” 

_”No,”_ Reggie laughs, nudging Munroe hard in the side. Munroe grins, looking down at him, and then after a moment of consideration leans down and kisses Reggie hesitantly on the mouth. Reggie tenses a little with surprise, then relaxes, sitting up a little to kiss back. 

It’s a little awkwardly _Spider-Man_ , upside down and a little sideways, but not unpleasant, either. They both taste sweet after the pie with a refreshing iced tea aftertaste, which -- short of being pool-side or having fireworks exploding above -- is probably the ideal kind of first summer kiss to have.

Reggie sits up and touches his fingers to Munroe’s jaw to turn his head, kissing him again. It’s surprisingly easy, is the thing-- easier still since Munroe kissed him first, and proof of interest always helps Reggie get bolder. 

Munroe tastes just as sweet the second time. Kissing him is no different from kissing a girl, his lips are just as soft and breath just as warm, except that Munroe is much bigger, so Reggie doesn’t need to lean or bend over to reach him. 

“So--” Munroe murmurs as the kiss slowly breaks, after who knows how long. “I won’t be around next week. Me and my family are gonna go tour the Notre Dame campus.” 

“Oh,” Reggie says, cool as a cucumber despite his sudden internal flare of alarm. This isn’t news, of course, Munroe was always going to go to Notre Dame and Reggie will probably end up at Penn State, but just being reminded how that’s all right around the corner is somehow jarring. 

“That’s cool,” he adds. 

“Yeah.” Munroe is quiet for a moment. “I mean, you can still text me whenever, I don’t think I should be all that busy the _whole_ time. But my dad’s gonna be comin’ up too this time, and...” 

He pauses. 

“It’s been a while, you know?” Munroe rubs his neck. “He sounded pretty proud when I talked to him on the phone. I think it’ll be a good trip.” 

Reggie nods. He isn’t sure what to say, because he is happy for Munroe, and it _is_ only a week. But then it’ll be August, and then they’ll both be gone, and _that_ Reggie feels a lot less ready for. 

Not just college… everything. 

He leans his head against Munroe’s shoulder. 

“Sounds like it,” he agrees, only slightly belatedly. Munroe seems to sense the mood and moves his arm around Reggie’s shoulder, swiping a finger on Reggie’s phone with his free hand. 

“What about this movie? _Set It Up.”_

Reggie laughs a little. “That’s _so_ cheesy.” 

“I thought you liked cheesy!” 

They swipe at each other a little playfully, ignoring the tension -- the ominous kind, not the exciting kind -- in the air for now. Maybe that week will be a good opportunity for Reggie to figure out, at least, how to handle the end of summer and all that entails. 

Nothing else of major note happens that night. Their movie ends and Reggie goes home, laying in bed strangely sleeplessly for a few hours before he finally drifts off uneasily. 

He’s so confused. 

_Don’t overthink it,_ he’d told himself. _People experiment all the time before and during college, just go with it, you’ll be gone in August anyway._

But Reggie, unfortunately, has never been as good at turning off his feelings as he likes to front. Whenever he hooks up (or whatever this can be called) with someone he already likes, this always happens; he always ends up wanting more. 

The idea of dating Munroe appeals to him in that idle, fantasy life sort of way, but it’s offset by being fully aware how complicated that would be in reality. Reggie’s friends would probably be supportive, mostly, and he suspects Munroe’s family might be too, but his own family? He doesn’t know for certain, admittedly, but he can’t imagine they’d take it well, based on how they react to almost any other slightly unexpected news Reggie sometimes has for them. 

Plus they’ll be states away in about a month, and Reggie’s barely been able to sustain his relationships _locally_ , let alone long distance. 

He bites at his lip contemplatively, still not entirely letting go of the idea as he starts to drift off to sleep, the way someone might fantasize about moving away and starting a fresh, peaceful life somewhere else. 

College will sort of be like that, in a way. If he and Munroe wanted to make it work and still keep it a secret from their (or just Reggie’s) families, they probably could. It might not even be that difficult to figure out, based on how easy things have already been between them up to now. 

In the morning Reggie’s woken up somewhat abruptly by his mother to remind him to pack for his own campus visit this weekend (much shorter, since they live within driving distance) and to tell him he was muttering in his sleep. Reggie’s heart jumps a little, but he plays it cool as he sits up and asks her if he said anything interesting. 

“Of course not,” says Melinda dismissively, hands on her hips as she scans his room for any signs of progress. Reggie knows not to expect anything he leaves behind to still be here when he comes back to visit; maybe some of it will make it up to the attic, especially if he remembers to move it there himself, but the rest might get trashed if it’s not sentimentally or monetarily valuable enough to keep. 

“Nothing I’d want to know any more about,” she goes on, which makes Reggie worry he said something vaguely concerning, but his mom doesn’t elaborate, just clicks her tongue after one more observational look around his room and then goes back downstairs. 

If he takes everything he actually needs with him to college, it occurs to Reggie he might not need to come back home at all. Maybe, if he did humor this hypothetical fantasy a little more seriously, he doesn’t actually stand to lose as much as he thought-- nothing he couldn’t live without if he had to, anyway. 

Okay, for real: he’s giving himself a week to figure out what he wants to do here. Reggie is not passive or wishy-washy by nature, so his uncertainty with this situation is hard for him to leave alone. If he didn’t like Munroe as much as he does, he’d be content enough to let it run its course and leave the rest up to fate, but he _does_ like Munroe. 

He likes him a lot. And Munroe likes him back.

▪︎▪︎

“Hey, Archie--”

It’s a couple days later, and Reggie’s hanging out over at Archie’s place so they can play Xbox and maybe shoot some hoops later.

“Yeah?” 

“Have you ever kissed a guy before?”

Reggie asks it utterly casually, not even looking away from the TV screen. Archie does, though, and his game character suffers somewhat for the distraction. 

“What?” He clearly didn’t see that question coming, and sounds genuinely confused. “Why?”

“Come on, dude, just yes or no?”

Archie hesitates, but shakes his head.

“I haven’t, but I’ve been kissed by a couple guys before,” he says. “If that counts.” 

“Depends on if you kissed ‘em back,” Reggie says, nudging Archie’s shoulder. Archie smirks a little, confusion draining from his expression a little, though not entirely. 

“This isn’t _Never Have I Ever,”_ he says, turning back to the TV to try recovering some of his progress, though he still glances over at Reggie now and then. “What’s this about, Reg?” 

Reggie looks at the screen, biting at the corner of his lip as if he’s focusing rather than stalling. 

“Um…” He squints a little, then sighs, sitting back and bending his knees. “Okay, wait, let me start over. Let’s say you’ve kind of been seeing someone…” 

“Okay…” 

“But you haven’t, like, really _talked_ about what you guys are doin’ yet, it’s still in that grey area before anything _too_ serious has happened. Before you really know if it’s gonna just be another hook-up, or maybe…” 

“Or maybe dating?” Archie offers carefully. 

“Right,” Reggie says after a significant hesitation. 

“Is this what’s been going on with you lately?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Archie pauses the game, which causes Reggie to make a face. Now it’s going to be _A Talk,_ when all Reggie had really wanted was a little details-omitted input. 

“I mean, we’ve barely hung out all summer so far. Is it because you’ve been seeing someone? Who’s the guy?” 

Archie doesn’t sound judgemental, just genuinely curious, hoping Reggie will give him the chance to be supportive and congratulate him. Reggie relaxes slightly, though he still isn’t sure how directly he wants to answer that question. 

Maybe he should, though. Hadn’t Reggie been upset about Moose doing pretty much the same thing? And, hell, Archie is probably the last person who would get weird about it. 

“I dunno if I should say who it is, but...” Reggie begins, nodding slowly all the same. He and Munroe should probably at least have _that_ conversation before Reggie tells Archie that much, but the rest might be fair enough game. 

Archie may not know much, but he _does_ have a natural instinct for relationships that Reggie’s often found himself a little (or a lot) envious of, and now that instinct might actually do him some good. 

“We haven’t really done anything _but_ hold each other and kiss so far,” he continues. “And I dunno, maybe it’s not meant to get any more serious than that, but I kinda-- like, I guess I wouldn’t mind if it _did.”_

“It sounds complicated,” Archie agrees. “Look, Reg, I know you enough not to make too big a deal about this, but hey, I’m happy for you. It can be hard to figure these things out on your own.” 

Reggie laughs a little, tempted to make a joke about how, yeah, _he’s_ not the one who has a dad who would say he’ll still love him just as much if he want to play music _and_ football, but he stops himself just in time. It’d make for a better joke if Archie’s dad wasn’t dead, obviously. 

“Yeah,” is what he goes with instead, which is lame but harmless. And true. Not that Reggie’s had to find the way through his sexuality crisis _entirely_ on his own, but if he’d _had_ to, he’d probably still be all way back at square one. 

“It’s not even that I’m all that worried about what people at school would think,” he adds, which is also true in a way he hadn’t really realized until saying it just now. “Like, it’s _senior year_ anyway, right, and if I was already in _college_ then I’d probably just go for it. But--” 

He falls quiet, working his jaw to one side in thought. 

“I get it, dude. And I’m sorry,” Archie says, touching him on the shoulder. “It sucks that you always have to worry so much about how your parents will react to things like this.” 

“It’s fine,” Reggie says, though it isn’t, really. The Mantle family isn’t dysfunctional in the ways most of Riverdale’s most broken families tend to be-- his parents aren’t mobsters or siblings or serial killers, nothing like that, although he might argue that when they’re mad they can be just as scary. 

When they’re _not_ mad, though (at him or in general, at least with his dad the difference is often immaterial), it’s so different. 

When he was a kid and got sent home early for fighting on the playground, and his dad commended him for not letting himself get pushed around, then showed Reggie old Kung-Fu movies so he’d learn about badass Asian heroes the likes of which were never featured in the Twilight Drive-In’s lineups; whenever he’s had a good day on the dealership shadowing his dad and they’d go get Pop’s after, maybe even share a couple beers back home as they watch whatever game was on that night; whenever he was MVP during a football game; whenever he charmed his mother’s book club or garden party friends so much everyone would be in a boisterous, charitable mood for the entire weekend. 

Being a local football star isn’t only good for his reputation, it helps his father sell cars, it helps his mother raise money and her status within the community. By all appearances, and even sometimes in those brief moments of peace when his parents are actually proud of him, the Mantles make a perfect team. 

As much as Reggie hates his parents, he loves them, too. The prospect of never seeing them again after he leaves for college doesn’t set him to ease as much as it probably should. 

“Maybe it’ll be easier when we’re not living together,” he goes on, not certain if he’s convinced by the notion but vaguely hopeful anyway. _Hey, mom and dad. I think I might be bisexual. I’ve kinda-sorta been seeing this guy from the football team. Anyway, bye! See you at Thanksgiving!_

Yeah, totally. Solid plan. 

“Well, whatever you wanna do, you know I’ve got your back, bro,” Archie says, squeezing Reggie’s shoulder a little. “Will you let me know if there’s anything else I can do?” 

“Sure, bro,” Reggie says, punching Archie lightly in the arm. “If anything happens, you’ll probably be the first to know.” 

Not just because he’s Reggie’s best friend, but because he’s Munroe’s too. 

They talk about it a little longer before getting back to their video game, and the advice Archie does manage to offer before Reggie changes the subject isn’t bad. A lot of it is fairly obvious, but Reggie needs the obvious pointed out to him sometimes-- relationships, real ones, are just not something he has that much first-hand experience with. He has decent common sense and a way of reading people, knowing which buttons to push or how to flatter and hype someone up, but common dating pitfalls and secrets to making committed relationships tick? 

Not quite as intuitive. Not nearly. Even when Reggie thinks he’s got it cracked, someone like Veronica Lodge proves to him, as always, that he knows a lot less than he thinks he does. 

Step 1, as advised, is the most obvious of all; figure out what he wants. Reggie knew it was coming, but he’s been putting it off anyway, because it’s not an easy question to answer. It should be, but it’s not. 

He wants to touch Munroe again. He wants to kiss him, and hold him, talk to him, sit with him, sleep with him. Maybe date him. 

At that point it’d be pretty much dating, short of actually going out _on_ dates, but maybe eventually they’d be able to do that, too. 

He doesn’t know if he can do long distance, though, and he doesn’t know if he can come out to his parents, now or maybe even ever, even if he manages to with his friends. 

So it really isn’t so simple, what he wants. The difference between _want_ and _can have_ can be severe at times, and Reggie’s always known it. 

Step 2: Find out what Munroe wants. Step 3: See if they’re on the same page or can reach a middle ground. Step 4: Be honest and listen. And remember, there’s no shame in a clean break if it comes down to it, but also no harm in giving long distance a shot just in case they can make it work. 

_Easy for you to say,_ Reggie thinks, but he does still appreciate the advice, even if he has yet to decide what to do with it. He and Munroe still text casually all the while, but he’s making a point to wait until Munroe gets home to bring anything up. 

The last night of Munroe’s trip he calls Reggie up, and the two of them chat for a couple of hours. It’s still all casual, just shootin’ the shit together, but it’s nice hearing each other’s voice after a week of only communicating through words on a phone screen. 

“You meet any of your future girlfriends yet?” Reggie teases, leaning forward on his bed, legs bent and idly kicking the air behind him. 

“Uh… no,” Munroe says, laughing a little awkwardly after a moment. “You know that’s not why I’m here.” 

“Yeah, but it’s a perk,” Reggie says, chewing the corner of his lip. “No way a football stud like you _won’t_ be drowning in it once the semester starts.” 

Maybe he’s overdoing it. Munroe is quiet for a few seconds, although it feels like much longer; the kind of awkward silence that always makes Reggie’s brain start sounding alarms that tell him to keep talking, say something, say _anything._

“I mean,” Reggie goes on quickly. “Even if you _weren’t_ still single when you get there, you’ll still be popular no matter what.” 

“I guess so,” Munroe says noncommittally. Reggie already has a hard enough time telling what he’s thinking sometimes, but it’s even harder over the phone; if nothing else, Reggie’s at least gotten pretty good at interpreting Munroe’s facial expressions. 

Reggie says nothing, still chewing on his lip and waiting to see if Munroe is going to keep talking. 

“Look,” he finally says. “I know I’m not good at this. This isn’t--”

“I know,” Munroe says, his tone a little more relaxed. Reggie hears him breathe out slowly. “But maybe after I get home we can talk a little. If you’re cool with that.” 

“I’m cool with that,” Reggie says. “Sounds good.” 

Munroe is too exhausted from his trip to hang out the very next day, but they agree to see each other again in the next day or so. In the meantime, Reggie decides to light a fire under his ass and do a little research. 

Which, yeah, does mean more gay porn, because Reggie isn’t sure where else to start. 

He knows from the start to take it all with a grain of salt, but he wants to figure out where the divide is between ‘more or less true to life’ and ‘completely exaggerated and unrealistic.’ With guy/girl Reggie obviously has enough experience by now to mostly understand that difference intuitively (at least as much as any average sexually active teenage boy), but with guy-on-guy he’s stumped; to him a lot of it seems at least _plausible_ , because in his opinion, most guys are turned on by almost anything. Even things he doesn’t personally find sexy, maybe not at all, he’d probably still say yes to _trying_ at least once if his partner seemed that into it. 

It’s one thing to watch gay porn out of curiousity -- or whatever one could call Reggie’s prior motivations for it -- but trying to actually _learn_ from it intimidates Reggie pretty quickly. Somewhat flustered, he slams his laptop shut and puts it on the floor, laying back on his bed and putting his pillow over his face. 

Okay, bad idea. That just made it a bit too real, and not in a good way. 

Plan B: He Facetimes Moose, and to his pleasant surprise, Moose actually answers. 

_Thank God,_ Reggie thinks. This is not a conversation he wanted to try having in text messages. 

To keep things as brief as possible -- Army Boy has only so much personal time these days -- Reggie gets right to the point this time. He fills Moose in on as much backstory as he’d told Archie, and then once he’s finished, asks him: 

“If you could start things over with Kevin, would you?” He pauses. “And how?” 

“That’s… I’m not sure,” Moose admits. “Kevin’s probably moved on by now. I know I’ve tried to.” 

“Yeah, but like, if he _didn’t,_ and if you came back to Riverdale,” Reggie says, trying not to roll his eyes when Moose misses the point. Sometimes Moose needs things spelled out to him, though, usually as slowly as possible. “What would you do?” 

“I guess first I’d invite him to a movie or something... maybe coffee, so we could like, talk and catch up and stuff.” Moose stops to think, brows furrowing slightly, then goes on: “Then if we were both into it, we could start going on dates and fooling around again.” 

“Right,” Reggie says, nodding slowly. “Okay.” 

He doesn’t really know what differentiates ‘going on dates and fooling around’ from _dating_ , if anything, and he’s a little hesitant to ask in case it’s a dumbass question. Reggie’s most recent encounters never quite fulfilled the ‘going on dates’ requirement, at least in a more traditional sense, but he also had been very decidedly Not Really Dating either girl in either case anyway-- he’d have liked to, but it was made very clear to him that wasn’t what they were looking for from him. 

It’s fine, though; that part he can probably navigate on his own. What would work for Moose and Kevin isn’t going to be exactly the same as what will work for Reggie and Munroe. 

“Was fooling around ever, like--” he bites at his lip. “I mean, compared to with _girls,_ was it like...” 

“Not really,” Moose says, thankfully interrupting before Reggie has to figure out what he’s really trying to ask. “The sex gets a little more complicated, but fooling around is mostly the same. Except for, you know… what you’re touching.” 

“Right.” 

“Nothing we won’t have seen or touched before by ourselves, though,” Moose adds, with a sheepish grin. 

Reggie grins back, pantomiming a quick jerking-off motion with his hand for the benefit of the video screen, and to make Moose laugh. 

“Oh, you _know_ it, bro,” Reggie says, laughing too. It’s a little sad to think that if he and Moose had been the ones to get together, Moose might not have had to leave Riverdale when or how he did-- Reggie would have been content to stay in the closet until graduation, that’s essentially already what he’s doing. 

“What about the sex?” he asks shamelessly, because sex has always been a fairly blunt subject of conversation for Reggie, and even more so with his close friends. “Did it, like… does it hurt?” 

“Depends on how you do it, pretty sure,” Moose says simply, color rising in his face a little. “Just, um. You can probably google it.” 

Reggie leers at him slightly, but then lets the subject drop with a _fine, be that way_ upward roll of his eyes.

“Great advice as usual, Marmaduke.” 

“Look, you’d think it was weird too if I asked you how to have sex with girls.”

“Dude, you _did_ ask me that,” Reggie laughs, rolling his eyes again. Honestly. “I lost my virginity like, six _months_ before you did.” 

“Okay, well, whatever.” Moose puts his uniform hat back on, glancing off-screen. “Still, just google it. I’m not that good with explaining stuff.” 

“Fine. Talk later?” Reggie says, content not to argue the point because Moose is probably right to feel it’s too awkward to discuss. Talking about masturbation in detail or about sex in general Reggie rarely takes issue with, but with someone specific might be a different story if it’s someone he actually cared about, to say nothing of if it was with a guy.

He may not be able to handle _that_ anytime soon either, even when he does reach Moose’s level of experience. 

They end the call, and Reggie lays back again, arms folded under his head as he stares up at the ceiling. He scrolls on his phone idly, playing Candy Crunch until he works up the nerve to google sex advice like he’s some fourteen year old kid again, but he knows once he does he’ll be lying awake for a while longer yet. 

He wishes Munroe were here (or rather, that he were at Munroe’s), if only so he could hold him to make falling asleep easier. 

(Not the only reason, obviously, but definitely a perk.)

▪︎▪︎

Seeing Munroe again kills off Reggie’s remaining unease completely rather than heightens it; relief rushes through him and he feels emboldened almost instantly, like Munroe’s return alone was all it took to help Reggie make up his mind.

Munroe takes Reggie’s hand to lead him to his room, where they talk a little, and then kiss a lot. This time Reggie is allowed to get handsy, although sometimes he feels Munroe tense slightly beneath his touch. 

“Everything okay?” Reggie asks. 

“Yeah, just--” Munroe exhales. “Just give me a minute.” 

Reggie does, pulling back a bit to give Munroe space. Munroe holds onto Reggie’s hand, squeezing it a little. 

“I wasn’t totally straight up with you before,” he says. “I haven’t really done most of this before. Like hardly anything.” 

“Oh, well…” Reggie blinks, caught a little off-guard. “That’s okay, I haven’t either.”

“But you have with girls,” Munroe points out. “Even if you haven’t done a whole lot of dating.” 

It’s fairly understandable to Reggie why Munroe would lie about not being a virgin; at their age, that’s not a confession guys can easily make to one another without risking some level of mockery. Reggie’s certainly teased his fair share of virgins over the course of his high school career, although admittedly, he’d usually ease off after a little light-hearted ribbing if they were a friend of his. 

“Well, we don’t have to do anything,” Reggie says after a few long moments of silence. Easy for him to say right now, although he’s a physical enough person that he isn’t sure it’s something he can maintain forever. 

“It’s not that,” Munroe says, and Reggie lets a breath out in quiet relief. “I just never really had the opportunity, you know? I was still young enough when I first wound _up_ in juvie that all I’d done was make out a little a few times, and--” 

He shakes his head. 

“I dunno,” he continues, sighing slowly. “It’s been harder for me ever since I was locked up-- touchin’ people. The whole time I was in there, all my body ever was was this _weapon_. I barely had any friends, couldn’t do much except hurt people with it.” 

“Dude.” Reggie’s sympathetic, though he doesn’t know what to say. Obviously he can’t relate exactly to what Munroe’s been through, although in a way his own upbringing allows him to at least understand it. For the longest time, the only way he knew how to make friends with guys was to be aggressive and borderline violent with them; as far as he knew until about age 8 or 9, that was just how guys were supposed to act around each other. 

He just squeezes Munroe’s hand again, and Munroe smirks and squeezes back. 

“It’s cool. You and Red have helped with that,” he says. “Since neither of you know how to keep your damn hands to yourself.” 

They laugh, and carefully, Reggie leans in to try kissing Munroe again. Munroe lets him, sliding his hands under Reggie’s shirt. 

“Glad to hear it,” Reggie says with a grin, moving closer until he’s climbing into Munroe’s lap. “But we can go slow. If you wanna stop, just tell me.” 

“Mm. Definitely not yet.” Munroe kisses him again, pulling Reggie closer and letting his hands roam down to hold onto Reggie’s hips. Reggie encourages him with deeper, sloppier kisses, letting his own hands explore Munroe’s sculpted abs.

“But at least before summer _ends,_ can we--” 

“Yeah-- yeah.” 

Then Munroe shuts him up with another kiss. 

Reggie kisses back slowly but with growing impatience, releasing what feels like months of pent-up frustration as he rocks a little against Munroe’s lap. They continue like that, slow and steady, Munroe’s hands gradually roaming lower and lower as Reggie’s follow suit, unzipping Munroe’s jeans to stroke him experimentally as Munroe’s breath picks up and his grip on Reggie tightens. 

It’s quick, but satisfying. Physically and emotionally. 

Reggie stays the night, sleeping in Munroe’s bed in their usual formation. They both fall asleep almost immediately.

▪︎▪︎

About a week into August, Reggie’s parents ambush him with a surprise trip back to Pennsylvania. Not a campus tour -- been there, done that -- but apartment hunting, because neither of them want Reggie staying in the dorms.

“Too distracting,” says his mom. 

“Too tempting,” says his dad. Both of these complaints, of course, amount to the same thing. 

Reggie doesn’t mind. He doesn’t intend to let this stop him from partying on weekends anyway; that’s the benefit of owning a car. 

The separation isn’t so complicated this time; Reggie and Munroe have been quietly continuing to see each other and intend to for the duration of the summer, agreeing they’d then give long distance a shot at least until mid-winter break, when they could assess from there if it seemed realistic to keep up. 

The complicated part, mostly, is being stuck with his parents for the duration of this trip. It shouldn’t be a long one, most of the work has already been done online and over the phone; all that’s left is to look the place over in person and then decide if they want it. Reggie hopes it won’t take longer than a weekend. 

In the meantime they’re staying in a hotel, his parents in one bed, Reggie in the other. He halfway pays attention to the TV as the two of them sit, fully clothed except for their shoes, over the bedspread sipping champagne they got from room service and watching SVU. Reggie, also fully clothed except for his sneakers, zips up his hoodie and taps a quick text out to Munroe.

> _Bored AF but good news  
>  Getting my own crib on (mostly) my rents dime & u know what THAT means_ 😘💦  
>  _See u soon!_

He puts his phone aside before his parents get curious enough to ask him who he’s texting with. Normally they don’t pay much attention, but now that they’re sharing a hotel room it’d be hard _not_ to notice him texting away if he let himself get carried away in a conversation, and…

Suffice it to say they definitely don’t know about Munroe yet. Reggie feels as if that’s something he should wait on until at _least_ Christmas, to see if he and Munroe are even still a thing by then. 

It’s unsettling sharing such close quarters with his parents under the circumstances, though. The fact he’ll be out of the house in less than the month helps a little, but overall it’s difficult for him to relax; he’s good at keeping secrets from them when their attention is elsewhere, but when it’s not? 

Well. He just needs to be extra careful this weekend. 

Or however long they’ll be stuck together in this (admittedly fairly nice) hotel suite. 

That first night they arrive late, so they order room service from the restaurant downstairs and eat in. His parents turn on _Jeopardy!_ from the hotel’s On-Demand collection, and Reggie zones out almost immediately. If either of his parents notice that he’s more quiet than usual they don’t comment on it, but it’s more likely they don’t notice; his dad, drunk already, yells out answers at the TV, while his mom retires to the bathroom for a hot bubble bath with her latest book club novel. 

Reggie puts his earbuds in and tries to unwind with one of his many Dotify post-work out playlists, which works for a while until he catches the escalating din of his parents finally finding something to bicker about. They always do. 

He yawns, turning the volume up and continuing to snack on his room service plate of fries. Marty stalks back over from the bathroom where he’d been arguing with Melinda through the locked door, sitting back on his bed as Reggie’s phone buzzes with a text. 

Marty glances over irritably, champagne flute already lifted back to his lips, as Reggie tries not to make a show of turning his phone over so the text notification from Munroe isn't visible.

> _I swear u have a 1 track mind Mantle. Lol  
>  Tho u won’t hear me complaining about that.  
>  Not as long as u don’t go collecting any future girlfriends down there..._

Reggie glances at the messages and cracks a smile. His dad looks over again, much less mellow than he’d been earlier this evening.

“Who the hell are you texting so damn much?” 

“Munroe,” Reggie says, making an effort for his annoyance to sound nonchalant rather than defensive. “Just asking him if he knows how _rigorous_ his football program’s gonna be this fall yet.” 

Marty snorts, changing out of his tie and dress clothes into a simple undershirt and navy blue pajama bottoms. 

“That boy’s going to be eating and sleeping football,” he says. “But Penn State’s team ain’t nothing to sneeze at.” 

It’s true. Reggie’s pretty sure that, not unlike Riverdale High, Penn State tends to have a slightly better reputation for its football than its academics. All the more reason it’s a good fit for him, if that truly is the case. 

“I know,” he mutters. “I was already gonna try out.” 

“Good.” Marty tops off his glass, the foam overspilling the rim slightly. “Now’s not the time to start losing focus, son. You’re going to be surrounded by all manner of temptations now -- frats, chicks, drugs and alcohol, wild parties, whatever -- but you’re not in high school anymore. You have to study hard, play even harder.” 

Reggie resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not the first time he’s heard this speech; it is, after all, his parents’ justification for keeping him out of the dorms to begin with. Even if he still hangs out on campus, makes friends there, goes to parties there, simply _living_ off-campus will still make a big difference. According to them, anyway. 

Being that removed from a social hub like the school dorms will probably get to Reggie a _bit_ , even if he still makes friends and parties every other weekend, but the trade-off of having total privacy does seem worth it. He’ll have no roommates to prevent him from jerking off, or sending selfies, or whatever other methods he’ll need to rely on to curb his libido on his own while suffering through the perils of long distance.

For instance, what he wouldn’t do for that sort of privacy right now. Would it kill his dad to have sprung for two rooms?

Reggie would rather not get his ass kicked in a whole new state and then come home to Munroe with a black eye, though, so he intends on doing whatever he can to avoid pissing off his dad at all for the duration of the trip. There’s no way to guarantee that won’t happen anyway, but he can at least try to play it extra safe. 

The next morning they eat breakfast downstairs in the hotel’s restaurant and then head to the apartment, which Reggie has only up to now seen pictures of. It’s a clean and simple space two or three miles from campus, a pre-furnished one bedroom with pale yellow painted walls and lightly faded teal carpeting. The building offers parking with the lease and a gym membership just around the corner, which is enough to sell Reggie on it even more than the corner-unit views. 

Done deal. Reggie can move in on the first of the month. 

“Can we go back to Riverdale now?” Reggie asks. His parents remind him that they booked at least one more night in the hotel so they might as well sight-see before they leave, and what the hell’s his hurry? 

Reggie has no response. 

So, after signing the lease, visiting the arboretum ( _yawn_ ) and hiking for a couple hours (less yawn), they wind up back at the hotel room, skin tingling from the sun and thoroughly exhausted. After a shower, Reggie plops down on his bed and snaps a selfie of himself flashing a peace sign to send to Munroe. 

His mom gives him a weird look, but then turns back to her reading. Reggie’s dad has disappeared in pursuit of a sports bar, leaving the two of them alone in the room. The silence is a bit uncomfortable, but not tense. 

She looks over again when Reggie’s phone buzzes with Munroe’s reply, a photo of just his hand flashing a return peace sign, and Reggie hears her sighing sharply before he looks up. 

“Mom?” 

Melinda is back to reading her book, though shaking her head slightly as if in disapproval. She does this often, and it never fails to push Reggie’s buttons. 

_”Mom.”_ Reggie repeats, cocking his head in silent, frustrated question when she finally looks over. 

“No, Reggie,” she says curtly, closing the book around her finger to hold her place. “We aren’t doing this.” 

“Doing _what?”_

She shoots a sharp glance to his phone. 

“I know what you’ve been doing with that boy.” 

Reggie’s heart free falls from his chest to his gut with a suddenness that nearly leaves him winded. 

“What?” He doesn’t sound casual at all; he sounds startled. Caught. 

“When my _teenage son_ spends _multiple_ nights per month sleeping over at his friend’s house for, how long has it been now, _six_ months? Which, yes, I did _check_ to make sure that’s really where you were going so I’d know you weren’t getting some cheerleader or _Southside Serpent_ girl pregnant--” 

“Mom--” 

“--And then won’t stop texting that friend the way you have been, I can connect the dots, Reginald.” 

Reggie isn’t sure what to say. With anyone else, with his friends or acquaintances, he could find some way to brush it off if he still wasn’t ready for them to know the truth, but his _mom?_ He could try denying it, make up some other story, but the accusation simply makes him freeze up; it stops him utterly and completely in his tracks. 

He looks down, biting at his cheek as his legs jiggle a little restlessly in place. His heart is racing, and it takes effort he has to keep his breathing steady. 

“Are you gonna tell dad?” he asks when he finally finds his voice again. 

“Hm. No. I don’t want to talk about it,” Melinda says brusquely, opening her book again. “But say your goodbyes while you still can. Once you’re in college you’ll have much less time to entertain phases like these. You’ll meet a nice, ambitious girl. Like that Veronica Lodge if she weren’t tainted head-to-toe in family scandals.” 

Reggie says nothing. He wants to stand up for himself, to tell her the entire truth and then defend it, but the words don’t come. 

“Don’t get upset. I told you I wasn’t interested in having this discussion,” Melinda says without looking up, turning the page of her book. 

“It isn’t--” _A phase._ At least, he doesn’t think so. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Reggie.” And whenever his mom spoke with _that_ tone, it meant the subject was closed. 

Not that Reggie even _wanted_ to talk about it-- he doesn't even know what he’d say. He just hates to hear how _she_ talks about it, as if she really knows him. As if either of his parents do. 

He puts his headphones in and turns over onto his side, away from his parents’ bed toward the window. His mom turns out her light about half an hour later, leaving both of them in darkness until his dad bursts back into the room, stumbling drunk and singing to himself. 

Reggie really can’t wait to leave.

▪︎▪︎

Once back in Riverdale, Reggie packs up most of his room almost immediately, even if he still has another couple of weeks left to go. If he can leave any sooner, he wants to be ready.

The next thing he does is go to Munroe’s. This time Munroe is the one who holds him, and they sit like that for a while in silence. Reggie doesn’t know how to talk about what’s bothering him, because if anything, knowing his parents, he probably got off incredibly easy, but just the confirmation to himself that everything his mom said is bullshit helps him feel better. Being with Munroe helps him feel better. 

They don’t talk much this time, but there isn’t much need. Munroe kisses him, kisses him again, and they both begin to discard their clothes; shirts, belts, pants, each comes off quickly so they can grope at bare skin, fingers tracing the curves of each other’s muscles. 

Reggie’s back hits the carpeted floor and he drags Munroe down with him, fingers digging at his back while Munroe’s hands slide through Reggie’s hair. It’s all a little painful in a reckless, athletic sort of way, not a deliberate sort of roughness but rather one that comes from knowing that neither of them likes to ever feel _fragile._ There’s biting at lips, pulling at hair, carelessly aggressive touches that may leave behind bruises or hickeys later, but it’s nothing like any of Reggie’s porn-- there’s tenderness, and that’s all they really notice. 

Even after they both finish Reggie is still gasping to catch his breath, legs tight around Munroe’s hips and head tilted back to look at the ceiling. 

“Kiss me again,” he pants, and Munroe does, leaning over him and brushing his bangs from his eyes. Reggie’s arms curl around Munroe as they lay there, not yet wanting to move even though they both ache with rug burn. 

“How’s that?” 

“Good.” 

“Feel good?”

“Yeah.” He does, too. Finally his breathing starts to even out again. “Do you?” 

“Yeah,” Munroe says, rolling off of Reggie to lay on the floor next to him instead. “Really good.” 

Reggie lifts his head long enough to rest it on top of Munroe’s arm. He feels the familiar rush of dopamine laced with adrenaline rushing through his veins like a drug, a specific type of energetic bliss he only ever gets from exercise or sex; his head feels clearer and his heart lighter, his body satisfyingly sore. 

“Hey, you wanna road trip down to Pennsylvania before we leave?” Reggie asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence pass. “I can show you my new place. Maybe it’ll even be ready _early_ and we can stay over a couple days.” 

“You know I’m there.” Munroe grins at him. “Now kiss me again.” 

Reggie does, grinning back.

▪︎▪︎ **e p i l o g u e** ▪︎▪︎

Christmas break.

Sweet, sweet freedom, and not a moment too soon. 

By now Reggie’s settled into his classes decently enough, managing a similarly steady average to his grades in high school without even having to sacrifice sports or weekend partying-- and at he’s _no_ trouble finding or getting invited to parties even with the handicap of not living on campus, although he has tried to curb the habit for less academic reasons.

_Too tempting,_ as his father would have put it, even though Reggie has no intention of hooking up. He and Munroe have still been keeping in touch as per their agreement, that they’d give long distance a shot and regroup during winter break, but he won’t lie-- it hasn’t been _easy_ keeping temptation at bay, even if he’s managed to. If he were on campus more often, drunk with coeds trying to climb on him or pull him into his room, however… 

Well, he’d like to _think_ he’s strong enough not to get caught up in the moment, but he prefers to just avoid that dilemma entirely if he can help it. 

The drive is uneventful save for some dusting of snow, and Reggie arrives at his motel a little after dark. He brushes his hair clean of flurries and takes a hot shower to unfreeze, feeling somehow betrayed by his own misconception that Indiana was supposed to be a lot _warmer_ than this. 

It really better not snow. Reggie loves his car, but Bella’s a classic model, and there are certain weather conditions she just shouldn’t drive in. Also, Munroe doesn’t know that Reggie’s driven himself over, so it might be a little awkward if he got trapped here on account of a little snow. 

No point in worrying about all that now, though. 

The next day Reggie drives around the dorms, wrapping a scarf around his neck and squinting through the cold air for Munroe’s familiar face. He knows enough about Munroe’s schedule from what he’s been told, and with help from GPS he’s got the car idling right along the route Munroe _should_ be taking. Reggie sits on the hood like he’s a delinquent in an 80s movie, one leg bent for his arm to rest on while the other simply dangles down. 

When he finally sees Munroe he whistles for his attention, barking once in traditional Bulldog fashion. 

“Mun _roeeee!”_

He waves, though there’s no need; Munroe has seen him already, running over with a pleasantly surprised grin on his face. 

“Reggie! Man, what are you doing here?”

Reggie grins back, inviting Munroe to step closer with a little tilt of his head. 

“Can’t a guy surprise his boyfriend for Christmas anymore?” he asks, voice lowered slightly so only Munroe can hear him. “Come closer. Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

He’s just teasing. Munroe comes closer anyway, still smiling. 

“Always am.” 

“I got us a room,” Reggie continues, fully meaning his own motel room, but hey. It’s bound to beat trying to crowd into Munroe’s dorm room. “But _first_... dinner? A movie?” 

They both get the car, kissing briefly as they start to warm up again. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Munroe says again, laughing. He’d mentioned he couldn’t afford to fly back to Riverdale over Christmas and their breaks happened to overlap quite nicely, so it seemed too perfect an opportunity to resist. 

“Freedom, baby,” Reggie grins, starting to drive. “We’ve earned it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! For now, anyway. Not ruling out a sequel for their college years, especially if there's interest. Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it!!


End file.
